Why Flying Sucks...Part 3

I thought I had gotten all of my frustration out on the other posts about flying, but my experiences at two different airports last week have led me to yet another post about the perils of flying.

More on Security -
I have already elaborated on how some people can't seem to handle following simple directions shouted at them in plain English by airport security. If you are hard of hearing, ask someone nearby to explain it to you. If you don't speak English, either learn it or get the fuck out. Even if you don't speak the language or happen to be deaf, you can still understand what is going on simply be mirroring the behavior of other people. If the ten people in line in front of you are taking the change out of their pockets, maybe you should too. Idiot.

Also, those that haven't taken one too many hits to the head and do understand these simple instructions need to take the next step and make sure they are fully prepared when it comes time to walk through the metal detector. When the security guard is beckoning you through, that is not the time to remove your shoes, cell phone, keys, watch, belt, pocketknife, hand grenade, and copper anal beads. These items should have been already taken off and placed on the x-ray machine belt. Just because you want to be a slowass and miss your flight doesn't mean I do. My shoes are already off. Get the fuck out of my way.

More on the Pilot -
If you are the pilot of my aircraft, you have one job: get me to my destination alive. As I have already established, you are not a tour guide or news anchor. Likewise, you are also not a comedian. When my plane landed in Denver, Colorado, the pilot's announcement said, "Aloha. Welcome to Hawaii!" This was not even remotely amusing or productive. The only thing I want to hear from the pilot is the local time, my baggage carousel number, and the words "You may now get off of the plane." Also, given the obvious negative IQ number of most airline passengers, I had to wonder how many of them were freaking out thinking we had actually landed in Hawaii. As if the snow capped mountains weren't a dead giveaway...

Meal Service -
Here's one I haven't covered yet. People on flights get hungry. To accomodate for this, the airline usually provides a free beverage and snack of some kind. Delta gives you a choice of several snacks, ranging from chips to cookies to nuts to granola bars. The flight attendants move up the aisle with both the beverage and snack carts until eventually everything is served. I have some issues with the way this was handled on my last flight. One flight attendant seemed to be in charge of drinks, and the other had control of the snacks. Simple enough. Handing out snacks, however, doesn't take quite as long as serving drinks, so the snack cart lady had made it almost all the way to the back of the plane before the beverage lady was even halfway. More specifically, the snack lady had made it to the seat RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME before suddenly deciding that the drink wench needed assistance. First she parked the snack cart right by my seat, but I couldn't reach it to grab anything for fear of waking the rather large woman snoring next to me. Then she snack bitch came back, but instead of feeding me, she shoved the cart back a few rows and then returned to help with the drinks. I had to watch in vain while the greedy people in the back few rows snatched away the Sun Chips I had been drooling over. It was a full ten minutes before she finally came back and let me have something to eat. Bitch.

The Flight -
Sometimes we are lucky and are seated next to an interesting person with whom we can chat during the flight. If you are one of these people, good for you. But just because you want to have a lengthy discussion with someone doesn't mean that I want to hear it too. When engaging in any kind of conversation on the plane, KEEP THE VOLUME DOWN. I have more important things to listen to than the dumb bitch three rows back describing the rules of the Tour de France in detail to the moron next to her. Nor do I want to hear the man across the aisle arguing with his wife about what to do for dinner or which child they with to ritually sacrifice next. Keep your conversations at a decibel level low enough so that I don't have to deal with it.

This is where I will leave it for now. But I'm sure a fourth installment is inevitable after I fly home in November.