In Transit

I hate airports and I hate flying, especially if it's domestic and for work. I hate the 3-hour delays with absolutely no explanation from the airline, and I hate the little cramped seats in economy - which by the way, if you paid over $700 for a 2-hour flight from Philly to Chicago, you absolutely deserved to be upgraded! - especially if you are sitting next to a 300-lb guy!

I believe people who are over 200 lbs should pay according to the circumference of their ass - why should I pay the same price when 1/8 of my already tiny seat is occupied by someone else's ass? I'm not trying to be discriminatory here or anything, and I have absolutely nothing against fat people - I am just advocating an equitable allocation of butt space for weary travelers. I believe that the Ass-Size-To-Seat Ratio (ASSTS) should have an absolute maximum and anything over the predetermined limit should be charged on a prorated basis. Take Delia, for example: her ASSTS ratio is probably well below the maximum; Is it fair for her to subsidize the person sitting next to her if the combined ASSTS Ratio (Delia + passenger) is over 100%? Shep can only take solace in the thought that Delia most probably travels business class, where a more generous ASSTS ratio applies.

And then there's the hotel: no matter what they say or how expensive or hip your boutique room is, it's still NOT home. I don't care if someone else makes my bed everyday, or I have a fantastic view of Lake Michigan - I'd rather hang out in my own basement watching HD shows on my 50-inch LCD screen TV with my feet up and cold beverage on hand. I don't care that I get taken out to an $80/person dinner - I'd rather be at home having pizza with my best mates. I've had my share of fancy (and FREE!) dinners - living in NYC makes you jaded like that: $1,000/plate at the Waldorf Astoria, foie gras and schmantzy duck at Daniel's, steak at Smith & Wollensky and Peter Luger, caviar at Petrossian... I'd prefer takeout Indian food anytime, thank you, as long as I don't have to wear anything formal.

I've traveled a lot in my days, and I must say the 2 things I hate the most are going to the airport to flyout, and going back to the airport to fly home. There's just something absolutely chaotic and magical about airports: a microcosm of fellow travelers, all hurrying to get somewhere - maybe to run away, maybe to come home. People coming and going, unaware of the other folks coming and going with them. Remember before 9/11 when you could stay with your loved one at the gate until they b0ard? I remember holding her hand waiting for her to walk into that waiting plane; I remember the utter helplessness when I knew that all I had to hold onto were a few lousy minutes. What do you say, what do you do? Call me a wuzz, but the hand I was holding was my mother's and I was referring to the times I used to take her to the airport whenever she visited me. (Which proves another one of my theories: That the invisible umbillical cord is never ever severed, no matter how old you get.)

I did realize one bright spot about being in transit - I might run into Delia. You never know where her next trip will take her - home to San jose or Rome (via Fiumicino), meetings at the Centre in Atlanta, to a small puddle-jumper airport town like Martha's Vineyard, through a little village in itself like Heathrow, or to Paris Orly (which reminds me of an aging French ho). Maybe she's done pulling her luggage for now and is home, wherever that is, with her feet up, having some cold beer and hot brick-oven pizza. Ah, la dolce vita!


Keywords: Delia Gallagher