Flying Bazaar

I recently took a plane trip - not an unusual occurrence in my current occupation - and I have to comment on the state of our airlines. Now, I realize I am not blazing new trails by ranting about airlines, I mean, how many "tiny bags of peanuts" jokes have you heard from comedians over the years? I have no proof, but I am quite sure that right after the Wright Brothers invented the airplane, stand up comedians stampeded to Kitty Hawk, NC to be the first one to complain about airline food. By the way, Mr. and Mrs. Wright, where were you going with naming your sons Orville and Wilbur? I don't want to offend all of you Orvilles and Wilburs reading this blog - of which there must be hundreds - but, seriously Orville and Wilbur? What was the thought process in the hospital when they were born? Mrs. Wright: "Oh honey, its a boy - what a beautiful, wonderful boy!" Mr. Wright: "He sure is a perfect, handsome boy - let's name him Wilbur!" Mrs. Wright: "OK, but promise me our next son will be Orville - we have to grab that name before someone else in the family does!" I like to think the parents were conspiring for a lifetime of inside jokes. They would just sit in the audience at school plays and recitals and science fairs and crack up when their kids' names were read out loud: "I cannot believe we named them Orville and Wilbur" (wiping tears of laughter from their eyes) "man, that never gets old!" Even today some of the names parents come up with sound like they lost some sort of bet and the punishment was naming their kid after a J Crew color or an organic vegetable: "Fennel, Shallot, come down for supper - and make sure your brother Loden washes his hands!" But I digress.

I am not one who generally complains to the customer-facing airline representatives - the counter people, the flight attendants. First of all, they have little to nothing to do with whatever my complaint happens to be - weather delays, mechanical problems, annoying person cutting his nails in the seat next to me. Second, they are not paid well enough to deal with all of the whining and complaining they already get (if I were in their shoes, I would be punching people left and right every time they tried to fit a full-sized suitcase into the overhead bin and then yelling at me when it won't fit, or asking to switch seats with fourteen people so they can sit next to their spouse, or having one last inane cell phone conversation ten minutes after they were politely asked to turn it off so we can take off). Third, I feel sorry for them because they are the face of a corporation and take all of the abuse, while the decision-makers get off Scot-free (and by the way, how did that expression start? Who is Scott and why was he freed, and why was his freedom so noteworthy that a saying was coined to memorialize said freedom?) So, unless a customer-facing person is directly responsible for my complaint, I prefer to remain silent and then write a scathing letter to the powers-that-be, who then throw my scathing letter in the circular file and have their secretary send me a form letter. But at least I have you to complain to.

Food. I understand that every airline on the planet is either in bankruptcy, fighting to avoid bankruptcy, or just emerging from bankruptcy protection, so they are all cutting corners where they can. Food service seems like the #1 choice to cut, and I am quite ok with that. If I want microwaved chicken-like glob, overcooked vegetables and a stale roll I'll stay home and eat my wife's cooking (cue the rim shot - ba-ching!) Just kidding honey - you are a wonderful cook! (she really is an incredibly good cook, but that joke was just begging to be written. Man, now I'm in trouble; I'll be eating microwave popcorn for dinner for a month! The sacrifices I make for my art...) But, now that the airlines have announced that they are no longer serving food, it has somehow given carte blanche to every idiot traveler to bring any food they want onto the plane. And a turkey sub is apparently well down of the list of these folks' culinary choices, because now, at best, the inside of the airline smells like the foodcourt at a mall and at worst it smells like the open air bazaar of some third world city. Really sir, a turkey sandwich and bag of chips wasn't going to tide you over for a few hours? You really had to get the muchu pork, fried rice, baked stuffed goat head and cabbage stew? I have to go straight to a meeting when I get off the plane and I smell like I just did a double shift on the fry-o-lator at Arby's. And everyone who brings this picnic basket-sized feast is somehow shocked - shocked - when they spill curry mustard sauce all over themselves and their carry on! Yeah buddy, the picnic table that was available to you on the last flight has somehow, inexplicably been replaced with a pulldown tray table the size of a cereal box, go figure.

Seats: Now, I'm 6' 4" (hi Meg!), so I don't have a lot of room on planes to begin with, but we are seriously at the point of airplane seats the size of my kids' car seats. I have no idea how fat people fly, because I can barely squeeze into the seat as it is and my knees are so wedged into the seat in front of me that the muchu pork guy is using my thighs to hold his drink and dessert. And the person in front of me (who is a little 5' 2" weasel and has room to stick his feet straight out in front of him and still not touch the seatback) invariably thinks there is something wrong with his recliner button, so he jams backward four hundred times giving me a total knee replacement sans anaesthetic. But that seatback had better be in the full upright position on takeoff and landing! Cause you know, if the plane is going down or up that 2 inches of angle difference really matters to your safety and well-being.

Bathrooms: I think they should be smaller. It is a tad too roomy in there, what with the 4' height and 2' width - they are a little too comfortable. I mean, I can still get in there if I bend over while leaning back and slightly to the side, while resting one foot gently upon the sink and an arm on the mirror. Which easily frees one hand at a 90 degree angle, pinned to my side to unzip, aim, control the flow and re-zip. No complaints there.

Yes, what a privilege it is to be alive in this golden age of air travel.