Chaos In the Clouds
The airlines have it all wrong. They should pay me to fly.
I think I’ll write a letter.
After all, I check myself in, I carry my own bags, I bring my own snacks and I even clean the plane.
Yeah, I’ve become one of those OCD people who brings Clorox wipes and scrubs the crumb infested tray tables, arm rests, and anything else my kids might possibly touch while traveling on their Boeing petri dish with wings.
So yeah, I’d like some money back, please.
Furthermore, I don’t understand how half of the stuff in Sky Mall (who’s purchasing a garden troll at 35,000 feet?) makes the cut and I’ve yet to find a crossword puzzle that’s left empty so I’m stuck reading the route map because I forgot my book.
Despite my attempt to cut down on carbs, I think it’s fair to expect at least four pretzels per bag. Tomato juice does not mean Bloody Mary mix and I’m still trying to figure out if the ice they give you is really from the toilet. Oh, and speaking of toilet, is there any way to make that thing not sound like you’re going to get sucked through it? Seriously, does this sound like an experience you should pay for?
But here’s a new one. After dropping my kids at ‘Grandma and Grandpa Camp’ for a week (YAAHOOOOOO!!!) I returned to the airport to make my way home. I discarded my drinks and my four-ounce toiletries, took off my shoes, my belt, my necklace, my earrings (they really should just ask you to come in your PJs…), said “Yes, Ma’am” and “Thank You, Sir” to appropriate TSA staff and still got the pat down anyway, despite the fact that the dude behind me looked like he was auditioning for Al-Qaeda’s Got Talent (sorry, this is not meant to bring up racial profiling…I’m just paranoid).
After finally making it past security I bought a new water and sat down. All this and it’s only…5:45 am! But at least it was over. Oh, wait, no, one more…as I was finally boarding, I was asked to “step aside” from the jetway to have my newly purchased $7 bottle of water examined. “Huh?” Did I do something? “We have to give you a litmus test.” Huh? “I just bought it.” “Step aside Ma’am.” I hate being called Ma’am. Makes me feel old.
Were they trying to test my water for explosives? Pregnancy? Kidney stones? Or perhaps just playing with a newly confiscated science game?
There were LOTS of other people holding waters, but mine was the only one litmus tested. And afterward, I had to throw it out anyway because it was manhandled by two officers putting chemicals in it! Can someone cut me a break here? Has anyone ever encountered this before?
In any case, I made it home. Parched and craving a huge bag of pretzels, I could finally relax. Kids were safe, and I was ready to transition to kidless vacation mode. So I opened the door. And found this:
And almost had a heart attack. Until I remembered. We still have a dog. A dog who likes to eat rugs and faces off of stuffed horses. But man, it scared me to death. Wouldn’t it scare you? I mean look at this thing!
And that’s when it hit me. Kids or no kids, the chaos follows me. I’m like Pigpen from Charlie Brown with a cloud of smoke on my head. Except mine’s chaos.
So to that I’ll take your stupid mini can of Bloody Mary mix and throw it in my overstuffed carry-on, then mix it with some Absolute Peppar, a dash of celery salt, a splash of Worcestershire sauce, a stick of celery and a few other things and call it a day.
Because tomorrow it’s back to the airport!