Back on an Airplane (and Thoughts on Air Travel)

I had my mid-term this morning: it was the first exam I have taken in over ten years. Yeah, really. No, it wasn’t a major trauma or anything. But I don’t think I did as well as I wanted to, although I don’t think I did spectacularly badly. I completely nailed some questions, but I totally whiffed some other ones: they remain stuck in my mind and annoy me. I’d be surprised if I did substantially better than average.

And two hours after that, I was headed to the airport:

AC 509 YYZ-ORD / UAL 1142 ORD-RIC

The flight was annoying: first of all, it was an insanely long taxi on the apron—-we pushed back on time, and didn’t actually take off until half an hour later. We were not just sitting around in a ground hold—-we were bumping along, incredibly slowly, to the runway. I was wondering whether all the runways at Toronto Pearson were busy today, so we were driving to the next airport to see if they had room.



Here you see my delightful window seat. Oh wait, there’s no window. It’s an almost window seat, I guess. Well, at least it’s not that window seat you get at the back of an MD-80, where your entire view is taken up by the engine pod that’s FOUR FEET AWAY FROM YOUR HEAD. (Just try not to think about uncased engine failures).

Anyway, part of the flight attendant announcement was:

The lavatory at the front of the aircraft is reserved for the exclusive use of our Executive Class passengers. Our Hospitality Class [h’yeah, nice euphemism for economy] passengers can make use of the two other lavatories located mid and aft.

Something about her delivery made me want to edit her sentence to: Our Hospitality Class passengers can make use of the damp rag and 5-gallon bucket located in the aft of the aircraft.

Considering how much they are cutting back amenities (i.e., you have to pay for the snacks on Air Canada nowadays), I think I’d be willing to fly military cargo-plane style: sideways facing canvas seats, metal floors, and you provide your own earplugs and parka. I like the idea: call it C-130 Class—it would play the Home Depot role against normal airlines’ Pier One. If cutting back the carpeted and padded finishes reduces ticket prices, I’d be up for it. After all, I am not traveling around in a living room: I am in a goddamn pressurized aluminum tube 6 miles above the ground moving 450 knots. Don’t try to fool me into thinking otherwise.

However, I don’t think much of the rest of the traveling public is going to go for this. Especially the part where they hand you a parachute and yell, “Red light! Hook up!”