Thanks to the Walmartization of the airline industry that
has created a legion of consumers with readable brain waves that will stand in
long lines to pay $4.25 for a latte only to be herded like cattle to save $50
on a four-hour cross country flight with flight attendants dressed in Khaki
beachwear...traveling by air these days can be a real joy. For me, yesterday was
one of those days.
The return flight from O’Hare to DCA was supposed to take
off at 2:05pm, so when the wheels finally came up over two hours later at about
4:10pm, that really didn’t seem all that bad for the perpetually
non-performing United/Continental/who gives a rat’s ass about the
customer airline. While the excruciating experience was bad enough, it was
further enhanced by the fact that I wasn’t flying my beloved U.S. Airways, which
also meant I wasn’t upgraded and was sitting with the rest of the lepers deep
in coach, in seat 24D, a full three rows behind even the Economy Plus section.
At least in that Coach purgatory, the airline can ream you for an extra $41
dollars so that you don’t have to rest your chin on your knee caps while you’re
contracting the latest airborne virus and preparing to host a fresh herd of
head lice.
While hanging out with the unwashed has a whole bunch of
ancillary benefits that extend well beyond those described above, there’s
something about the horrific experience that also confirms any inkling one may
have regarding our general de-evolution and that fact that we’re hurling
straight to hell. Despite repeated pleas from the crew of flight attendants to
shut off electronic devices, the clueless hipster to my immediate right sat
with his tray table down and headphones on while playing some mind-numbing game
on his iPad. I thought about demonstrating one of the real advantages of the
slimmed down tablet by shoving it up his alimentary canal, but the dude was
younger (and pretty big) so I reasoned that he might be the one doing the
shoving…and even with the sleek new design and smooth hi-res screen, it seemed
like it might hurt. Thankfully, the stewardess (Melissa) actually tugged on his
ear-cord and told him he had to shut it off and put the tray table in the
upright position so there wasn’t a need for either of us (it was going to be
him) to have to see the proctologist.
Through it all…the flight attendants kept their
composure, and while many of the cabin’s frustrated professional wrestling fans
were getting unruly and clearly wanted to get home to their trailers to see the
latest episode of Moonshiners, the crew of professionals stayed cool. They were
business-like, but also maintained a remarkable upbeat attitude while
continuing to smile throughout the boarding ordeal and turbulent flight. As I
sat there with my brethren in coach, feeling my already low IQ drop and a
desire to stop going to the dentist and combing my hair, I suddenly longed for
a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I also couldn’t help but once again notice the
perpetual smiles of the flight attendants. They were unflappable, and over
time, their good moods actually wore me down
and made me feel better. I was actually feeling pretty good by the time we
landed…but that was well-before the hour-and-ten minute 8-mile
commute home from DCA.
What’s the point of all this…heck if I know. Could be to
avoid O’Hare, to fly U.S. Airways (actually,
United is not all the bad…much better than Delta…who is more than ready to ruin
your day whenever you are), to take the
metro or to simply smile more. For some reason…I’m guessing it’s C. There are a
lot of things I can’t control…but the expression I choose to wear is clearly up
to me. Sadly…I don’t smile near enough. Usually, I walk around with the
expression of a man that’s just learned he’s failed to receive a First Class
upgrade or worse, like someone that’s about to walk into my fifth one-hour
meeting of the day. I don’t really know why I don’t look happier…because
I’ve experienced firsthand the benefits of a smiling face…both as someone on the receiving end and as the beneficiary of
the good that comes from wearing one myself. I’ve even had people comment that
I look better when I smile (I know…low bar), but for some reason I’ve chosen to
master the habit of looking perpetually pissed. So…go ahead…even if you think
it’s stupid…just smile.
Just before pulling out of the lot for the 70-minute
drive home from the airport, the parking booth gal smiled and wished me a Happy
Father’s Day weekend. I’m not a father, perhaps because I knew I could
never live up to the standard set by my own dad. Whether you’re a father, married
to one, looking to be one, happen to know one or simply if you just have a dad
yourself (that should be almost everybody), have a great weekend. If you can,
do something fun just for you…and when you do…smile. If you can…enjoy a little
music…and if you do…close your eyes and think about your dad. 
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