My Last Flight Anywhere

by Pa Rock

Former Flyer

Generally speaking, when I finally make up my mind about something, I stick to it.  Years ago after an especially officious teenaged Walmart store manager went out of his way to offend me, I told him - calmly, on the way out the door - that I would not be back - to any Walmart ever!.  And with the exception of one late-night visit due to a medical emergency, I have stuck to that self-imposed shopping ban.

Today I am declaring that I am done with air travel.  I am sick and tired of the high costs, the extra charges, the cramped seating, and the dehumanizing treatment associated with taking commercial flights in the U.S.  There has got to be a better way to travel, and I intend to find it.

Today I was told by United Airlines that I had a special type of ticket that did not permit a carry-on, and only allowed one personal item that could not be placed in the overhead bins.  My duffel bag would not fit under the seat in front of me, so it rode from Portland to Denver standing on end between my legs.   On the flight from Denver to Kansas City I said "screw it," and threw the bag into the overhead bin - daring any and all flight attendants to make an issue of it.

At Denver I had an hour and ten minutes to reach my connecting flight.  I was looking for Concourse C, and two different airport employees told me to go down the stairs and get on the train.  Each said that it was easy to get to Concourse C.  I went down the stairs, saw a train pulling out, and rushed to stand in line for the next one.  When it arrived I got on and relaxed - until that train - the wrong train - took me to the baggage claim area outside of the secure zone. I had to go back through a packed security, take off my belt and shoes, and get patted down because the airport radar thought I looked funny.  Some how I did all of that, got on the right train, and then ran for one of the far gates in Concourse C.  I got there, wheezing, just as my group was boarding.  One pissy TSA officer looked down his nose at me and explained, rather piously - "That's why we tell people to get here two hours early."

So he can keep his airport, and his useless job, but he will have to save his moralizing for someone else because Pa Rock will be riding the rails with Amtrak, or driving, or walking along the interstate with his thumb out.  But he will not be flying!

Bastards!

But the cake did not get completely frosted until the plane landed in Kansas City.  As soon as we touched down, the flight attendant got on the intercom and welcomed us to Kansas!