It's been a long time since United Airlines had ads showing O. J. Simpson running through airports. Since then it's the rest of us who've been running for planes. Since then O.J's runs have been from ... the law.
We have to run to allow extra time to park in lots that are farther away, extra time to get through increased security and extra time to buy food to eat on food-challenged flights. We have to run to be at the gate twenty minutes before our flight is scheduled to leave so our seat won't be given to someone who can run faster.
Although the skies of United might still be friendly, you'll be staying on the ground if your flight's been canceled. When my husband kisses me goodbye, the three, little words I long to hear are "on time departure".
In Los Angeles it's against the law for charities to ask airport travelers for money. Because of people like me, I don't think that has reduced the amount of money they collect. When I'm about to get into a metal container that's going to be kept in the sky by a scientific principle I still don't understand, I think of my donation as flight insurance.
When I get to the security area, however, I don't have to think. I automatically put my jacket, purse and shoes in one container and my laptop in another, keeping my boarding pass firmly clutched in my left hand the whole time. If Pavlov rang a bell, I'd salivate too.
If my flight is delayed, I take the news sitting down. I won't let myself pass the time by shopping in the stores. Too often I've found just the right gift for someone and then had to carry it with me the rest of my trip. When I've had to hold the gift between my legs while washing my hands in the restroom, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth when I look in the mirror. I'm looking at a pack mule.
I have to remind myself we go to airports in order to leave them - or we used to. Things have changed to accommodate the needs of delayed, canceled and stranded travelers. More services have been added. Now you can rent movies, office space and a place to nap. Is it my imagination or are we meant to forget why we're there? |
