The Joys of Travel: Part the First

Hi, Traveling! It’s Kathrin. I have a bone to pick with you.

On a recent trip up into the wild blue yonder, I was reminded at just how much I dislike flying. It’s not the “traveling” portion of the affair that turns my stomach, mind you. I enjoy the bustling through the airport, looking self-important and dragging a suitcase behind me as it wobbles perilously to and fro on its tiny, tiny wheels. I enjoy the crapshoot of the security checkpoint, hoping that I didn’t accidentally leave a pot of forbidden lip gloss in my carry-on and willing the bag-checkers not to root through my underpants. And the getting there is fun to, when you get to scurry self-importantly through yet another airport on a frantic search for your suitcase which may or may not have been rerouted to Albuquerque against its will.

No, it’s the climbing aboard a metal monstrosity that should in no way be capable of flight (physics class be damned) and sitting in this pressurized death chamber for several hours as we soar through the air with the greatest of ease at 500 miles per hour at a comfy height of 32,000 feet above the ground (or ocean, as the case may be).

But I thought I was uncomfortable with flying. That is until I met Lady Shouts-A-Lot on my latest flight.

I first encountered this curly-haired wonder in front of me at the security checkpoint when she turned around and engaged me in a boisterous conversation about her dismay at having to take off her shoes and walk around on “God knows what,” as I believe she put it. As for me, anything that prevents a bomb from walking onboard with some madcap nutjob is okay in my book. Here, take my flip-flops. Hell, you can have my pants, too, if you want ‘em.

Well, lucky for me, Lady Shouts-A-Lot was seated on my flight! Right in front of me!! Oh, joyous day.

She engaged her traveling companions (a seemingly normal married couple) in many high-volume discussions that the whole plane was invited (read: forced) to enjoy. Here is a small sampling:
- She informed us that we should all be concerned for her, as by this time of day she has usually consumed three beers. Sadly, she’d only had time for one since our flight was delayed for two hours and, alas, the airport bar wasn’t yet up and functional. (Note: This sentence was uttered at approximately 10:00 a.m.)
- She drank no less than three vodka and Sprites while on our 1-1/2 hour flight (and ostensibly spent at least $20 on hooch and cabin-temperature soda pop).
- She thrilled us with the specifics of exactly how the alcohol would have a dreadful reaction with her new prescription of Paxil.

She is also guilty of wearing too many bracelets and using too much scrunch spray. Just a dab’ll do ya, Lady Shouts-A-Lot.

So attention, travelers: If you think that you are uncomfortable with flying, boating, paragliding and/or hot air-ballooning, rest assured that there will always be someone aboard your vessel who is leagues more unstable than you.

And if she’s clutching a cocktail in one hand and a spangled wicker bag in the other, tell her hello from me.