And I Live Even Farther Away

My grandfather used to say (for real, this time) that he’d “take that car to California” to express his faith in the reliability of a vehicle. (And given that the distance involved from where he lived was around 1500 miles, this was no small expression of confidence.)

I still say this for the same reason.

That . . . Would Do It, Yeah

I correspond with a number of people around the world (it’s one of my favorite parts of the information age), and recently one of my correspondents was bemoaning an upcoming two-week family visit.

“It’s like spending two weeks in a prison!” they told me.

“I know that feeling,” I replied, “but surely it’s not that bad.  Where are you going again?”

“Siberia,” they answered.  “In February!”

Which Is Also A Decent Time Considering The Circumstances

Yesterday I mentioned in passing that while traveling recently I missed my connecting flight.  While this wasn’t fun, I learned something interesting about myself.  I could have said, “Yeah . . . I’m not going to make that,” and, as it happens, it was actively impossible for me to have made it by the time I got off the plane because boarding had closed pretty much the moment my feet touched the ground.

But I didn’t realize that at the time.  (I was in such a rush I was thinking departure time, not boarding time, and I had fifteen minutes before departure.)

Even a small delay might give me the time I need, I thought, so off I sprinted . . . from Gate A24 to Gate D6 . . . in Atlanta.   I made it in ten minutes, which is a decent time.

And I felt recovered from that sprint about an hour later.

Because If You Tell Me That, You Need To Also Tell Me The Good Reason Why They Haven’t Left Yet

Since I’ve been traveling lately, I’ve gotten the chance to experience how airlines are trying to improve their relationship with their customers, and I want to say that I really do appreciate being kept in the loop on any flight delays.  With that said though, there is such a thing as telling me too much.

For instance, telling me there’s been a fifteen minute delay is appreciated and easily understandable.  Delays can happen for any number of reasons, and a fifteen minute one isn’t likely to be too much of a big deal (and this is coming from someone who missed his connecting flight because of said fifteen minute delay), so thank you for telling me.

But you probably shouldn’t have told me it was because the flight crew hadn’t left their hotel room yet.

So . . . Thanks For Not Letting Me Die

So, yeah, I’ve traveling a lot (for me) lately, placing me in airports and on planes right in the middle of a period of time where my safety on the ground and in the air was largely being monitored by essentially unpaid volunteers and conscripts.

The Trip (Part Two)

Before I move completely away from the topic of changes in air travel culture though, let me pause to give a shout out to the TSA agent who processed my paperwork on the other side of the country.  She was personable, professional, and had some of the finest inkwork on her arms that I have ever seen.

The Trip (Part One)

Let me start off by saying that I used to enjoy flying, but those days are gone and may or may not ever come back around again.  I appreciate the efforts to make air travel safer, but they add a level of hassle (sometimes involving being literally hassled) that encourages me to avoid airports whenever I have a reasonable alternative (including just staying home).  With that said, on my recent trip it was nice to see that efforts are also being made to make flying comfortable again.  Enjoyable for me it was not, but less painful is at least a step in the right direction, particularly when we’re talking about flying cross-country late at night with a child in tow.

I’m just going to acknowledge that there were difficulties in doing that and gloss over that part, but if you want a window in my mindset after a few hours, I point you to the following text sent out around that time:

Superpower of time acceleration so far failing to manifest.  At least L. finally fell asleep.

I Learned That From A Customs Agent

Yesterday Lala informed me that yesterday was International Kissing Day, but I told her that I was too busy to do any traveling at the moment, so I’d have to pass.

“You don’t have to kiss internationally!” she protested.

“You do if you want to cross the International Date Line,” I replied.