ARE WE THERE YET?

Whoever said “Getting there is half the fun” was a giant, pie-faced moron. In 98% of cases “being there” is way better by at least double. Pretty much the only enjoyable mode of transport for me is oversized cruise ship, because I’m mildly claustrophobic, hate to be constrained and am easily motion sick. Only on a cruise ship can I rock climb and play putt putt golf while moving. But unfortunately for me, there was no cruise line sailing direct from Philadelphia to Dallas, so I was stuck with the airlines.

Now, I’m no Platinum traveler, but I’ve done my fair share. There are certain rules that everyone should follow to be happier. First off, make sure you’re in one of the earliest boarding groups so there’s room for your stuff in the overhead bins. Plus you’re up first for drink and snack service, which will take your mind off the fact you’re hurtling through the air in a metal tube without a net. I picked a nice window seat up front so I could see outside (the claustrophobia), and lean against it pretending to be asleep if I got a ‘talker’ next to me.

I was already starving, because due to weather issues my original flight had been delayed several hours. I spent that time standing in line to get rerouted on a flight that left immediately, but had no connection. So I had to run to the gate to catch it and now I wouldn’t have that mid-flight stop to grab a sandwich as I’d hoped. I was looking at a solid 4 more hours on an empty stomach. I planned to fake a seizure so they’d give me 27 bags of those complimentary peanuts.

I optimistically hoped the flight would be partially empty so there’d be no one in the middle seat. My optimism, as usual, bit me right on the floatation device. SECONDS after sitting down, a mom with a toddler slid right next to me in the middle seat. Nobody in the history of air travel has ever chosen the middle seat on purpose. Especially with a baby. I looked at her like the complete nutbag she was. “Uh, is your husband with you?” I asked, clearly in a voice that meant ‘move over and respect my personal 2-seat space’.

“Oh no,” she replied, all chipper, “I figured we’d have to move over anyway if someone came, so I thought I’d just do it now.” This must have been her first time flying with children because she had it all wrong. Children should be used as a deterrent, keeping anyone from sitting within two rows of you if possible. If I’d had a baby with me, I would have stood at the entrance of the aisle holding the kid out in front of me like Gandalf wielding his staff: “NONE SHALL PASS!” I’ve even been known to loudly say things to the baby so everyone can hear, like “Aww sweetums, does boo boo feewl like he’s gonna throw up ALLLL over the place again?”

But this lady just didn’t get it. She held her baby neatly on her lap and he was being adorable and quiet of course. I gave him the once-over. His name was Keegan. I could tell because it was embroidered in 3 inch letters across his outfit. It was one of those linen sailor suits with the knickers and knee socks my husband would never allow our boys to wear because he was certain it would turn them homosexual. Keegan had a giant mouth full of rice puffs. He grinned to show me. My growling stomach fantasized about prying the cup from his chubby hand and gulping down the rest of them.

The plane was filling up. “Look, could you just pinch him or something?” I pleaded. “If he sits there all normal like that, someone’s gonna come sit with us and we’ll be crammed in here the whole time.” His mother looked at me wide-eyed, and hugged Keegan a little closer. I was hoping she was rethinking her seating choice, when suddenly a hulking business traveler plopped down next to her, sealing us in. His name was Wade, and he was, of course, a talker. So all through the take-off they chatted up a storm, insisiting on including me in the conversation even though I was fake-snoring against the window like a cartoon character. Keegan rhythmically kicked me with his hard, white baby shoes the entire time. My stomach was turning inside out. His fat, knee-socked leg looked like a delicious Cajun sausage. Where the heck are those snacks, I grumbled. Finally, I saw the flight-attendant with her order pad.

Just then, over the speakers came a voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, the flight attendants will be coming around shortly to take your drink orders. Unfortunately, due to an on-board peanut allergy, we will not be passing out snacks…” The message replayed in my head in that garbled Charlie-Brown-teacher voice: Noooooooo snaaaaaaacks.

“WHAT?” I yelped, dropping my fake-sleeping act. “Can they DO that? Who the hell has a freaking peanut allergy on Southwest, the airline known for its delectable PEANUT SNACKS!!!!” Keegan’s mother shrank down a little in her seat and did not make eye contact. She suddenly seemed very interested in the emergency card in the seat-back pocket. Realization swept over me. KEEGAN! I turned to look at this menace. He was chewing on his finger and drooling. I scowled at him. Giggling, he wiped a fingerful of slobbery puffs on my arm. I was so hungry I thought about licking it off.

I pulled out my portable DVD player. Wade and Newbie Mom were very excited. “Cool, got anything we’d all like?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Keegan, have you seen the final season of the Soprano’s? I hear a stripper gets whacked in this one.” I turned the volume way up, “ I hope your 4-word vocabularly is up to snuff -- he’s not saying ‘truck’ by the way…”

Soiling Keegan’s virtue only brought me momentary happiness, as big Wade ended up with a bout of stomach flu halfway through the flight. Thanks to my early boarding rule, I was right by the bathroom to hear and smell everything. Not a lot of ventilation on a plane. I stared at the ceiling, willing that yellow oxygen mask to fall and give me relief. It never did. When we finally touched down I was suicidal and knocked over several old ladies to get out into open air. Boy, I thought, if getting here was only half the fun, this is gonna be one sweet trip!