I have never been a particularly patient person. I abhor waiting in line. I loathe wasted time in my day as a result of someone else’s slowness. I also hate having my schedule be at the mercy of someone else else. Thus, I am a spectacular air traveler. From the time I pull up to the curbside check in and wrestle my (usually overpacked) suitcase out of the back of the car, all the tiny little Cranky Neurons in my body begin to fire overtime. As soon as I step into the airport, I am greeted with dawdlers, idiots, slow walkers, people who can’t find their boarding pass, people who can’t find their ID, people who don’t understand how the whole post 9/11 travel process works, and just general morons, who will hereafter be referred to as Yokels.
I consider myself a savvy traveler. For every one of me there are at least 5 slack-jawed Yokels who seem to have been deposited directly off of the turnip truck into Terminal B and are standing in a horizontal line completely blocking the walkway, oblivious to anyone around them, blinded by the shiny surfaces, duty-free cosmetics, and the proximity of themselves, Mr. and Mrs. Slack Jawed Yokel, to all of these here other folks who seem to be movin so durn fast likes they know where they are going.
They have a million questions: Do I want whip on my Mocha Frappucino? What is a mocha frappucino? Is that like them dranks Britney Spears likes so much? What do I do on this here moving sidewalk? (The answer to that one is simple: WALK, assholes. There’s even a freaking sign with a diagram on it at the front of the walkway that tells you where to walk and where to stand).
And then, of course, after they’ve had their fill of frappucinos, Sbarro’s pizza for $80 a slice, and perusing the Gun and Garden magazine in the bookstore, they realize it is time for them to get on board that big shiny airplane and wedge their giant corn-fed asses into their seat. On most airlines, this process is somewhat self explanatory and even The Yokels, with 3 screaming mini yokels in tow, can seem to figure out how this all works.
Then, there is Southwest. I enjoy flying Southwest because their fares are reasonable, they seem to run on schedule for the most part, and they don’t charge you to check a bag, like some of the other airlines have. What I don’t enjoy, nay, what I ABHOR, about flying Southwest is the boarding process. They force you to line up in order based on the number assigned to you when you checked in. This always causes mass confusion and chaos amongst the Yokelry. Where do I stand? What number are you? Does 35 come before 56? What if I am in the A Group but the other Yokels in my large extended Yokel Travel Party are in the B group?
When I was in elementary school, we were often forced to line up on field trips in alphabetical order by last name. I will swear on my Marc Jacobs bag that a bunch of elementary school kids, many of whom have grown up to be Yokels, were able to align themselves properly in order with less mass hysteria than you witness when participating in The Great Southwest Musical Chairs for Retards exercise.
Once you and the Yokelry are on the plane, there is then the question of the overhead compartments, and their relationship to your luggage. Here are a few suggestions, should any Yokels happen to have stumbled upon my blog looking for guidance:
All Our Overhead Bins are not Belong to You. Put your stuff up there, but don’t shove your duct-taped yokel briefcase in the MIDDLE of the bin so that no one else can use it.
Coats. They are not a carry on item. They be your clothing, yo. Would you take off your pants and put them up in the carry on bin? I hope not. Do whatever you want with your coat: wear it, sit on it, drape it around your shoulders, put it at your feet, use it as a blanket and jerk off under it I DON’T CARE just don’t put it in the overhead bin. This refers back to rule #1, All Our Overhead Bins are not Belong to You.
While we’re on the subject of carry-ons, I thought it might be helpful if I brought to your attention that it IS IN FACT still possible for luggage to be checked and stowed safely in the bowels of the plane, to be (hopefully) retrieved upon reaching your final destination of Yokelsville International Airport. Here is a list of things that are just simply too large to be carry on items, but yet, I have witnessed yokels trying to carry them onto airplanes:
An amplifier (I believe it was a Peavey)
Your Golf Bag, complete with clubs and little fuzzy club cozies
A duffel bag big enough to serve as a sleeping bag for Danny DeVito
A fishing pole
What appeared to be either a steamer trunk, or a coffin for someone very short and wide—perhaps Mr. DeVito suffocated in his Yokel sleeping bag?
If, for some reason, despite following the above advice, you find your American Tourister, Yokel Edition rolling suitcase (camoflauge patterned, natch) DOES NOT fit into the overhead bin, shoving it, hitting it, trying to turn it sideways or otherwise magically squeeze it into the overhead bin is not going to work. All that is going to happen is it is going to get horribly stuck, causing you to have to yank it out with such force that it sends you toppling backwards into the lap of the yokel across the aisle, knocking over the male flight attendant with the plucked eyebrows who has EVEN LESS tolerance for Yokels like you than I do. Think about it: would Wynonna Judd fit in a space the size of Carrie Underwood? I think, despite your Yokelry which is an obvious handicap, you can understand that analogy.
Also let’s discuss the subject of eating and drinking while on the airplane. A turkey sandwich, piece of fruit, small salad, and bottle of water, soda, or juice are perfectly acceptable plane fare that will not offend your neighbors. Here are some foods that I consider off limits, and the reasons why:
Carrying on AN ENTIRE PIZZA. First of all, how long is this flight that you need to eat an ENTIRE PIZZA? And, if you are intending for this giant box full of carbs and grease to feed more than one member of your Yokel Traveling Band, how are you going to distribute the pizza to them? Just take a slice, rip it off and chuck it down the aisle?
McDonalds. We’ve all fallen pray to its siren song in airports before. It’s there, it’s a known quantity, and somehow dietary rules seem to not apply when you are in an airport. That, I totally get. However, here is an opinion of mine I’d like to share with you. McDonald’s food smells like raw onions and armpit. The combination of low grade beef, condiments and French fry salt is marginally appealing at best when consumed quickly after purchase. But something happens when McDonald’s food sits around for awhile before being consumed that make it highly odorific and not in a pleasant way. Combine this signature Yokel Funk with a tiny cabin with recycled air and it’s enough to make me stabby.
And, finally, let’s discuss how you interact with your fellow passengers. Before striking up a conversation with the kind-faced lady or gent next to you, please consider the following:
Your life? It is only interesting to you and your family and friends. Unless you are Jacques Cousteau, Gandhi, have won a Nobel Prize, an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony or are on my short list of male actors I consider preeminently humpable**, I am really WAY more interested in the episode of the Cho Show I am watching on my Ipod, even though I’ve watched it and all the other Cho Show episodes on my IPod the last 5 times I’ve flown somewhere. Oh, and I will also talk to you if you are on the Cho Show, but only if you are actually seen on screen and not like a PA or a craft service person or something. No, I don’t want your business card. No, I don’t want to tell you what I do for a living, where I went to school, where I live, how many pets I have, or what I ate for breakfast this morning. A smile and a nod is fine but then there better be nothing but stone cold silence from you for the duration of the flight or I may be forced to say offensive things just to get you to shut up. Also, if you have ever traveled on a plane with a woman, about 5 foot 6 with short hair that was either brown, red, or purple who said she was a Mormon missionary on her way to Uruguay to help sew mosquito nets and teach the local children the Book of Mormon as well as how to fly fish? That was me. And I was totally lying.
To sum it up, just have some freaking common sense while flying and be aware of the fact that there are literally thousands of people around you who are also in the process of trying to get somewhere without dying or having to stab another Yokel to death because they broke one of their travel rules. Keep to yourself. Keep those traveling in your party, including your children if applicable, out of the way of any other travelers who seem to be moving with purpose. Say please and thank you. Smile, if you can. And, for the love of God, don’t stand still in the middle of the moving walkway.
*Question: Where are the Gosselin children allowed to chew gum?
** The PHAC, or Preeminently Humpable Actors list includes, in no particular order:
Zach Braff
Johnny Depp
Adam Brody
Joel McHale
John Stewart
Robert Downey Jr.
John Cusack
Jared Leto but ONLY if he said his name was Jordan Catalano and we could do it in a boiler room.
