I spent the day traveling yesterday.
After a loud night in a Ramada with noisy college kids, it meant shuttles, going through security, waiting at gates, loading on to an airplane, waiting to get off after taxing, getting the rental car shuttle and then dealing with the rental car people.
I hate people.
Wearing headphones (often playing my white noise tracks) wasn’t enough. I bought a headphone amplifier because I anticipated my hate for people and the desire to drown them out even more than the normal iPod’s capacity.
It didn’t work.
“Hell is other people.” I’m not smart enough to know which cool philosopher said that. He or she was right.
I hate people who snap gum. I hate people who slurp. I hate people who walk around with their mouth open. I hate people who have no awareness of anyone else and bump into you, cut you off or fail to tell you where Row A is at the rental car place and let you go the wrong way. I hate people who tell you to pull the rental care into a spot so narrow that Tony Stewart would balk.
I don’t find children all that cute traveling either.
I don’t like how when they say “We will begin boarding for parents traveling with small children.” and parents get in line with their kids going back to college.
I hate pilots and their ultra smug way of saying, “We’re just waiting for a turn to park.” Look Chuck Yeager, do you know how much I paid for this fun little excursion that takes me from Milwaukee to Albany via Tampa, Cincinnati, Sacramento and El Paso?
Waiting to park? What is this, the mall on black Friday?
How about those cheerful TSA folks? I made the mistake of forgetting to remove my scissors from my carry on. After a twenty minutes of furrowed brows, raised eyebrows, dirty looks and supervisor discussions I was told to wait.
As they huddled together strategizing whether to waterboard me before or after they made me take off my shoes, someone measured the scissors and determined that they were of legal length.
I was let go with the level of cheerfulness that Tiger Woods would receive at a NOW convention.
And how about people’s interpretation of what constitutes a carry on? Look, Mr. Budget Traveler, here’s a tip–Strapping a handle on that discarded box that Home Depot delivered your new oven in doesn’t qualify. Trying to stuff it in the overhead compartment and defy the laws of time space continuum just isn’t gonna get it.
It was so nice to walk the dogs this morning at 6 am when no other beings are around. No crying babies, no mouth breathers, no travel professionals.
‘Course, I had a wonderful time with my friends in Milwaukee.