Walk From Now On
It might get you there faster.
by Declan Desmond

It's funny how air travel is supposedly the fastest way for people to get around, yet it causes more high blood pressure than a traffic jam on a one-lane highway.

Sure, it's fast. Real fast. Once you get the plane in the air, that is. For some reason, getting the damned thing off the ground seems to be so monumental a task that the trained professionals running it have simply come to accept and live with its near impossibility.

Like an underweight circus lion, the minute you drive into the airport you’re forced to jump through hoop after flaming hoop, testing your patience, stamina, and intellect. You finally make it, and they call your "group" to board.

No doubt aggravated beyond reason, you finally find yourself standing in the plane. This too takes forever. The rocket science that is taking a piece of luggage and sitting it on a shelf above the seats is a bit much for some people to handle. Unfortunately, these geniuses always seem to be in front of you, blocking the path to victory, while the only thing you want to do is get to your goddamned seat to get this show on the road.

At last you get there. You are glad to be in your seat. There are many like it, but this one is yours. It’s even next to a window. It's so wonderful it makes the passing parade of idiots – also meandering their way to their seats – just a bit more bearable. Finally, everyone who wants to go to the same shitty part of the country as you seems to be on board.
The door closes. Everyone is settled.

So, the plane should start moving, right? Right? Nope.

You look around, and see that, even though they're in their seats, the idiots haven't lost that confused, bewildered and stupid look on their faces.

Why isn't the plane moving, damnit?

You've checked your watch. Now almost a half-hour has gone by. Still, the plane does not move. Every other plane seems to be happily taking off into the sky, except yours.

Babies cry. People carry on stupid conversations. Old bald guys read Tom Clancy novels. Babies cry more. Oddly, it seems as if there are no actual babies crying; it's as if they're on an audio loop. It's the same chorus of pain over and over again, perfectly repeated ad infinitum. It's ridiculous.

Finally, the plane begins to roll backwards. Alright, some movement! Yes! The great bird of the sky poises itself on the vast airfield to pick the perfect part of the runway for take-off.

Yet another half-hour goes by.

It seems other flights wanted the runway first.

Well, screw them! You feel, with your Jedi instinct, that no one in those other planes had to endure the torture you did – how unfair that they get to take off first.

Then, the "captain" comes on over the speakers (you wonder if the "captain" of an airplane commands the respect of his crew the way the captain of the Enterprise does. This reporter guesses not), and informs you, jovially, that we're about to take off.

And finally, you do. And you know what? It's pretty cool. As the plane speeds neck-breakingly across the tarmac, I always find it fun to pretend that I, along with all the other passengers on the plane, have escaped, narrowly, some sinister doom. Like Langoliers. Or zombies. Or Imperial Stormtroopers. Usually, people give me funny glances during take off, but if only they knew the peril we just escaped...

But you haven't escaped anything. You are only on parole from the nightmare that is air travel. When you touch down in your destination city's airport, the process is repeated, only in reverse.

The plane has stopped. The gate has been connected to the plane. And ... for some reason … the damn door isn't opening.

Five minutes crawl by, laughing at you.

The door opens.

And ... for some reason … no one moves. At last they get up. Sadly, they appear not to have retained any information from their First lesson in rocket science. Baggage is even harder to get out of the overhead compartments than it is to

put in, it seems.

Five days later, you are out. A year later and you have your suitcase back from the luggage carousel (funny that a word so synonymous with "fun" and "happiness" is arbitrarily assigned to a device that is completely devoid of both). And yes, you have made your final escape. You even manage to get out to the parking lot without event.

Yes...

You are happily driving away from the airport, laughing at all the SUCKERS who are still stuck there. This is like “Escape from Alcatraz”, and you are Clint Eastwood.

Then the traffic light turns a cruel shade of red, and you're not laughing anymore.

Walk from now on. It's so much better.