Judith M. Villeneuve of Maine has “covered” for me before but for those who are new, I shall give you a short bio at this time. She was born and raised in Pittsburgh and visited this region as a youth. She feels strong ties or some sort of affinity for this region, I think. Also, the woman was TOTALLY delirious when she wrote this piece and directly after, she and her husband decided to seek some sort of medical care for the sickness. What I mean is that literally after penning this piece, they crawled to the vehicle and went to a local urgent care facility. All is OK now so no worries but gee, I can’t get over it, frankly.
Air travel observations and ramifications
By guest columnist, JMVOM
Hello people of Western Pennsylvania! It is I, Judith M Villeneuve of Maine.
I have a thing or two to say about travel, specifically air travel.
I do realize that this has been done to death. Even before the days of Seinfeld, a lot of comedians mined a rich and seemingly inexhaustible vein of material from this topic. We all know the seats keep getting smaller and moving closer together. TSA lines are the stuff of legend. We keep giving up more and more of our dignity as we strip practically naked in front of hundreds of strangers and enter a large machine that completes the stripping process for the viewing pleasure of bored agents.
I don’t blame you for yawning. But I really wanted to get this off my chest.
Nearly every year for the past decade or so, my huge and rambunctious family has found an excuse to have a reunion. These excuses are generally happy ones. Quite a few weddings have found the 10 siblings, or at least 7 or 8 of them, using the joyous occasion to check out how everyone is holding up as we enter our 40s, 50s, and (yikes) 60s. (Full disclosure, as the oldest, I’m the only “60s.” But the rest aren’t far behind...)
We’ve had a couple of less happy excuses as well and this summer happened to be one of those. My sister Emmy, who lives in San Diego, had arranged a memorial service for my brother-in-law, who had passed away in April. Or rather a “celebration of life,” which was the preferred term. Of course, with my family we couldn’t just do that ONE thing. We had to pile on a bunch of other momentous occasions.
First, meeting our newest little nephew Charlie, who lives in Missouri. My second from youngest brother Ben had finally met and married the girl of his dreams, Jessie, two years ago. (You guessed it! A giant family get-together ensued when they got hitched). Since they are both in their early 40s, and both had always wanted children, they wasted no time. Charlie just turned a year old and we all got to watch him take his first unassisted steps, which was a thrill. Another thrill is that in about 3 months Charlie will be joined by a little baby sister.
Second, one of my middle sisters had recently been tracked down by a son with whom she had lost all contact (don’t get me started on how or why, just use your imagination) over 30 years ago. He was a small toddler at the time. Now he is a 35 year old man with a wife and two children. We were all tickled to learn that Rozsa had become a grandmother before any of the rest of us! So of course we had to fly the entire family out from Virginia to the west coast – I mean, how could we not? I remember Chris very well because my sister and I lived close to each other when he was born. But it was shocking to see him all grown up. I am happy to report that in spite of a rather turbulent childhood, he turned out really well. He’s a kind, funny, intelligent young man, who didn’t seem a bit intimidated by us. That is an accomplishment he should be proud of.
But to get back to the subject at hand – plane travel. What is up with those tiny bags of snacks? Am I right?
Okay, I’m only kidding.
As I said, I am 60, so I’ve been flying the friendly skies for decades. I nostalgically remember when people used to dress in their Sunday best to merely pick someone up from the airport, let alone board a plane. Okay, I confess, I don’t mind the increasingly casual dress code; I’m a very casual person. But flying was a special occasion and ticket agents treated you in a friendly and courteous fashion. Ticket agents, remember them? Now you walk up to the ticket counter to check your luggage or receive your boarding pass (I know you can print them out at home, but sometimes your printer runs out of ink, okay?) and you see one harried employee trying to shepherd the folks in line towards the self-check-in kiosks while attempting to help the more elderly passengers. It seems that all available manpower has been diverted to the TSA line, because you have to make sure everyone empties their pockets and takes off their flip-flops (how the hell one is supposed to hide explosive devices in a pair of sandals is really beyond my powers of imagination).
Another thing I don’t miss is meal service. I’m quite capable of packing a snack and filling up my empty water bottle once I’m through the TSA line. But one would think, with all the money airlines have been saving on meals, they’d be able to afford to allow you to choose your own seat, next to your own loved ones. But no. I believe the word for this is extortion. A term that can also be applied to luggage fees. This has been happening so incrementally that one barely notices it. First, a fee for full-sized bags. Okay, I think I can pack enough in a carry-on to last me about a week in California. It’s summer, t-shirts and capri pants don’t require more than a regulation sized (tiny) duffel bag right?
Well that was until this year, when I got on-line to check in (my printer happened to have ink, luckily). Imagine my horror as I called my husband over to verify that the tickets I had purchased no longer included one item of carry-on luggage. I had no idea until that moment.
So I bit the bullet, payed the $30 fee (while imagining myself trying to cram an entire week’s worth of clothing into my backpack – help me Rick Steves!) and dug out my old suitcase.
I was determined to get my $30 ($60 counting the return flight) worth. I started packing full-sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion, as well as extra underwear and a heavy pair of comfortable walking shoes.
I had a fantastic time in San Diego. The family (those of you who have read some of my previous guest appearances may know that they cover the religious and political spectrum pretty thoroughly) behaved themselves admirably.
A potentially contentious game of Apples to Apples even went swimmingly. I spent some time at the beach, got a chance to visit old friends, and caught up with some European relatives I hadn’t seen in years.
A few days after flying home (I won’t go into the highly uncomfortable 5 hour middle seat flight I was forced to endure, seated between a mother and a teenage son who had apparently been willing to pay extra to NOT be seated together -WHO DOES THIS??)
I woke up feeling dizzy and chilled. That’s right, I had caught one of those mythical recirculated airplane air bugs. Turns out it’s real, people!
So even as I write this, I am sitting here coughing and wheezing. I’m thinking this thing that started out as just the flu may be morphing into pneumonia. And actually, come to think of it, why am I sitting here venting about air travel?
You’ll have to excuse me, I need to get on the phone with my primary care provider right away. Is it too much for me to hope that high-speed rail may be in our future? Preferably before I die, which may be sooner than I’d like to think? But come to think of it, my celebration of life would be an excellent excuse for a family reunion.