I’m finally on my way home, glad I went to my brother’s
wedding and was able to be a part of his special day, but I’m gritty-eyed
weary. Flights were delayed, canceled
and rescheduled. My sister and I—my travelling partner this trip—spent the
night, or more accurately four hours, at a hotel chain, The Red Roof Inn. In its
day, it was considered a respectable, clean, family place to stay. But, trust me, that era
is long gone, a fact they easily share with flying these days as well. (You can tell when someone is old and waxing
nostalgic when the expression “these days” is bandied about.)
When I was young, my father once took our family to the
Pittsburgh airport to eat lunch. It was a rare treat, one that required a
little bit of driving and planning. But the payoff was a mediocre meal by a big
window, watching planes take off and land to the delight of us kids and my
aviation enthusiastic dad.
Walking through the concourse to get to the restaurant was
also a unique people-watching opportunity. Young men and women draped in robes
or Indian style clothing were stationed throughout the airport handing out
brochures for their religion or seeking financial contributions, a fact that
might elicit a “damn hippies” from my dad or hushed conversations between my
parents about so-and-so’s cousin’s son that was brain washed. It’s hard now to even imagine such open and
casual proselytizing ever existed. Thankfully, the opportunity to observe the quirky personalities of
humanity is still plentiful.
The flight attendant just came by and offered me a beverage. I could have purchased a Fresh Meal for $8 or a CafePlus
for $6 or even a Cafesnack for $4.50.
But I declined and opted for just my “complimentary” Diet Coke. Back in my
day (there it is again), a hot breakfast would have been served. Perhaps two
discs of rubbery pancakes with a drizzle of fake maple syrup, a potato cake or
plastic-like scrambled eggs and chunks of tasteless fruit. But the food wasn’t the point. There was something about peeling back the
foil on the tray and digging in that felt like a treat and welcomed
diversion—like a TV dinner in the air.
I even kind of miss stewardesses, although I fully
appreciate the overt sexism blindly accepted as the norm, back in th’ day. Okay, maybe
a few things have changed for the better.
It’s easy to feel a sense of mourning for the days of flying that are no more and will never be again. I grumble at the excessive government intrusion at the airports. I miss the casual ease and fun of flying. And the reality of what bad people can too easily do, puts an edge on travel I never used to realize I should feel. Fortunately, I don’t fly often and at least this trip, the purpose was worth it. I got to spend time with my sister, dance with my sweet nieces, meet my brother’s delightful wife and have a piece of wedding cake for all my efforts.
But just to prove I can buck the system a bit, I exercised a
little rebellion. You know those safety
information cards in the pocket of the seat in front of you that you’re not
supposed to remove? Let’s just say, I’ll be able to really study the proper protocol
for securing my seat cushion and hugging it closely in front of me in the case
of a water landing.
Now, don’t even get me started on modern euphemisms like water “landing”…
