Life of Hardin Vol. IV, No. 5

The Joys of Flight

When last we left our intrepid adventurer, he was just about to set foot on a plane to the land of milk and honey and extra moist chocolate cakes. We pick up the tale after he has been there and returned to a far land . . .

I used to love airports. I liked to gaze out of the big glass windows and watch the planes take off and land. I liked to sit and wait with the travelers and wonder what wonders they might see on their trip. I liked the idea of going somewhere. I liked to watch the people as they waited for their flights, as they said goodbye, as they stared down the long tunnel to the just-arrived plane in hope of catching the first glimpse of a returning prodigal.

I liked to fly in the planes. I like to sit there while the stewardess served me a can of Ginger Ale and a bag of honey roasted peanuts. It was the only time I really ate peanuts at all. They only taste right when they've been at 50,000 feet for a few hours. I could chat with the stewardesses and get extra drinks or extra snack bags or extra rolls with the meal. I watched out the window as the plane took off and saw the night lights of some city I'd never been too, just sort of traveled past. Then I could say, with my nose in the air, "I've never really visited Miami (or London, or Sydney, or New York, or etc.). I've just flown through a few times." I watched the TOP side of the clouds and found out they're just as billowy from that side. I watched the movies and movies and movies they show to keep you pacified--movies that I would not pay to see in a theater and might not rent, but hey, they're free.

Now I can't go now to the gates unless I have a ticket. I can't watch the planes take off. Now I get stopped at security because I have a squeeze bottle of Miracle Whip (with the tangy zip) stashed in my carry on. There it is confiscated under suspicion of being a front for high-tech liquid explosive.

Now when I sit for my snack I am given a bag of mix made with salt, half-pretzels, and Doritos crumbs because peanuts are deadly to some people. I NEVER get to eat peanuts now. Now when I ask for Ginger Ale I am told they have Guarana instead.

Now when I sit back to enjoy a movie, I am told there is only one feature playing on the FROM flight. It is "The Lake House." When I decide to make the best of it I discover that it has two different language tracks. One is Portugese. The other is . . . Portugese. On the flight TO, depending on the plane, I am told the possible features are a number of not-yet-on-video blockbusters I would love to see. On my plane the feature is "The Devil Wears Prada." I don't care how free it is, I refuse to watch "The Devil Wears Prada" or to even find out what prada is.

Now when I decide I have had enough adventure and try to sleep, I do so very well for about five minutes, until my insomiac wife leans into my closed-eyed face and asks in a stage whisper the entire plane MUST hear, "Are you asLEEP?"

Now there are two sides to airports and airplanes. Sometimes you're going somewhere; sometimes you're going away. But if they would only keep a little Canada Dry on hand and one little bag of peanuts, it would be just a little better either way.