I've written before about my disdain for air travel and in particular, the farcical precautions we're now forced to take in the name of airport security. Living as we do under the protection of George Orwell...uhm...Bush's "Department of Homeland Security", those of us who travel frequently have become used to arriving at the airport long before flight time in order to complete the obligatory pointless rituals before being allowed to travel from A to B.
So it was with some relief that a recent trip to Canada revealed that our northern neighbors have adopted a somewhat more intelligent approach. Yes, bags are still checked and questions are still asked, but one got the distinct impression this is done in order to determine whether you're carrying something you should not be, rather than simply to inconvenience people for the hell of it, as appears to be the case in the US.
"Shoes on or off?" I asked the first security guard I encountered in Calgary.
"It's up to you," was the smiling reply. "You can even keep your pants on if you like".
And in moments, I was through. Contrast that to the almost 2 hours I stood in line to have a bored official glance at my passport as I passed through US Customs.
However, even relaxed security doesn't speed things up when it came to the laws of nature. I may have been in the departure lounge much faster than I expected, but each flight I took on this multi-city trip was delayed in some way shape or form by the weather. However, it was only a real problem on the flight where I missed the connection and was obliged to spend a night at a rather smelly and very noisy airport Ramada.
Early, early the next morning, I was back at the airport for my rescheduled flight. I am not, and never will be, a morning person and having been woken at 4:30 am by the screech of my neighbor's shower; I was not at my most chipper. Even with a mug cup of hot, black and very strong coffee in my hand, I was barely able to raise a single emotion at the news that this flight too, was delayed. I simply closed my eyes, scrunched down into my collar, and relaxed into a state of semi-consciousness.
Until they started boarding. This is just another one of the many annoyances airlines put in place to vex me. For one thing, nobody but me pays a blind bit of attention to the boarding numbers. So by the time I get on the overhead bins are full to the brim with backpacks, and duffel bags, and strollers and dozens of other things that aren't supposed to be carried on the first place. This means I have to put my laptop under my feet and while at 5' 10", I'm not exactly an NBA player, this still leaves me with too little leg room.
What really ticks me off though is the whole "pre-boarding" thing. (I'm with George Carlin on this, what the hell does that mean?") I know what it means of course. The people with the baby that will scream for the whole flight can fill up the overhead bins with their crap, and a bunch of fat cats can start pigging into the free drinks while those of us in cattle class wait our turn like the peasants we are. Sorry, but the concept of First Class brings out the socialist in me. "All men are created equal" my ass. Let the rich travelers suffer along with the rest of us and we'd soon see the service improve.
Even worse; on this particular flight we had the added indignity of watching a party of a dozen or so sweep from the Executive Lounge and onto the plane without even having their boarding passes checked.
"Who the hell are they?" asked one passenger, more erudite than the rest.
"That was...Bon Jovi" answered the boarding clerk, with stars in her eyes before returning to the humdrum, day to day world which the rest of us inhabit. If she'd said "That was Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior" she could hardly have been more obsequious. No matter, before long we ordinary people were stowed and on to the next connection.
Now having become accustomed to speeding through Canadian security, it was somewhat surprising to find the next group of officials paying an inordinate amount of attention to my travel documents. As in, almost every one asking to see them. I've been through this before of course, back when I looked like a hippie and had a passport full of Asian stamps. Nowadays, I'm a middle-aged business traveler and wasn't expecting this.
Eventually, after my ticket had been checked for the umpteenth time, I plucked up the courage and asked "Is there a problem?"
"Oh no," came the response. "Bon Jovi and his entourage came through a few minutes ago and that's got everyone excited."
This didn't really explain why my ticket was being scrutinized.
"So what's that got to do with me?" I persisted.
"Well, somebody put the word out you were Barry Manilow"
Barry Manilow? I don't look a bit like him. Harrumph. And I think I'd rather they'd mistaken me for Bon Jovi.
At least he was in first class.
