complaints, com[plane]ts

By Robbie on May 17, 2011

Just a passing note about last weekend's travel. I hadn't flown for a few weeks; has something recent happened (bin Laden's killing?) to make the lines and the wait longer, or did I just hit two flukes on my round-trip? Out of Houston Sunday at 9AM, there was a line at the Southwest curbside check-in about 70 passengers long, leading to two agents. I had nothing to check, and had checked in online the day before, but hadn't had printer access; there wasn't a separate option at Hobby, from what I could tell, such as the self-help kiosks installed at most airports, for passengers needing a printed boarding document only. I was worried that the line would cost me 40 minutes, and that if the security line took as long, I might not make it to the gate. So I went to the front of the line and asked if waiting in line was the only option for boarding-pass-only passengers. This led to an irrelevant discussion about the guitar case in my hand, and how full my flight was, and how "hard" cases were disallowed as carry-ons (!), and gate checking was...I'm not sure what her position on that was but it was clear she didn't appreciate my being there holding a guitar case. Which is OK, being the usual routine; I just didn't want to wait in a long line full of suitcases and golf clubs for the printout. Ultimately my wait was 2 minutes not 40, because, after doling out the disapproval, she gave me the pass and I was on my way. The security line was, as expected, crowded -- maybe 200 people -- but it moved efficiently and took only 20 minutes.

At Midway the Friday previous, at noon, the security line was about as long, but took 55 minutes. I think there were as many stations at the end of it as at Hobby, but for some reason the line was extremely sluggish. I discovered a big part of the reason for this as I approached the belt, when 5 passengers in quick succession cut into the line in order to make their flights, which had the effect of making the line behind them stationary for 5 full minutes. I didn't begrudge them their priority (which of course I myself claimed when it was my interest to, in the baggage line Sunday) but as I stood there I reflected a bit sourly on a system that rewards people who are pushy or panicked enough to cut in line. This was the case -- big back-up, but push on through if you need to -- both days.

So, you who fly a lot, has something developed lately? Maybe Sunday morning and Friday early-afternoon are high-traffic times, though I haven't noticed them to be.

And a final, disgusting anecdote. One of the things I like least about flying (and contrary to this bickering post, there are a couple things I do like about it!) is the feel of all the pathogens swarming into your head as you hunker down in the cabin on a long flight. Could be my aging and weakened constitution, but lately there have been flights when I can feel this kicking in shortly after take-off and magnifying exponentially each half-hour thereafter, like angry horny bees reproducing in my sinus passage. On my Friday flight last weekend it didn't happen to me, but it did to the guy beside me. As he began sneezing and sniffing, I pressed my body closer to the window and raised my book closer to my face. But I was very aware of him, and after one of his Kleenexes fluttered off the side of his tray table and to the floor, I lost track of my book and just concentrated on him and his woes, which might soon be mine as well. Toward the end of the flight he was on his last Kleenex, and filled it with one gigantic outburst. Then he coiled the paper between his hands and brought it to rest between his knees. You bastard, I thought. You had better not drop it, and you had better not sneak it into the seatback compartment. You can depend on my vigilance. Everybody knows everything. Feel my eyes. But what do you do with a full Kleenex, waiting for the plane to land? I don't know, because I got bored watching after a few minutes and returned to my book.

The disgust turned inward on the returning leg, when I started to sniffle midflight. As a sneeze rose, I turned dignifiedly and considerately from the passenger on my left, covering my nose and mouth with one hand and face close to the window. But the amount of fluid released by the sneeze was gargantuan, and viscous. Half of it was captured by my hand and the other half exploded through my fingers and on to the window. I was mortified, and unsure how to proceed. To ask an attendant for a tissue and wipe down the window with it was the right thing to do, but humiliating. So I coiled my hand tightly and returned to my book and pretended that 1. the gobs of my snot on the window were small and inconsequential, 2. snot on a hand evaporates quickly, 3. I am clean and dignified, 4. everybody does not know everything.

Next post, back to armchair musical philosophy!