ering all the traveling I have voluntarily done the last few months, but it’s true. I’ve often been told, and repeated as well, that “sometimes it’s the journey and not the destination we should be focused on”. This may be true in figurative facets of life, but for literal situations it’s a load of bull shit. Whether trapped in a plane for hours on end with a seat oozer, cramped up in a car with a gasser, or motion sick on a rickety train, swaying boat or any other form of transportation, I HATE the getting there part. Psychological
1) The great thing about living in California is all the public transit; I’ve often used CalTrain and BART trains and VTA busses. However, this “convenience” has its own set of hiccups, from negotiating the fastest and cheapest routes, finding the correct boarding areas, boarding the right buggy, to getting off at the right stop. I’ve often wondered what other commuters thought of the doe-eyed girl, map shaking in her hands, constantly checking her phone and harassing others by continually asking what the next stop was. Attempting to navigate public transit in the second-most densely populated city in the US still causes me to break out in cold sweats, tuck my tail beneath my legs and whimper in utter defeat. And this is often just the start of my journeys…
2) For anyone who has ever had the displeasure of accompanying me on a flight, I tend to be slightly neurotic about forgetting and losing things. I often walk around with my ID and ticket in my hand, as if they could somehow crawl out of my wallet, jump from my purse and scurry away. If you question whether I remembered to pack something, even though I KNOW I tucked it away in my bag, I will have to tear through my luggage until I have located said item. Although an amusing game for my companions, it creates a lot of wrinkled clothes and only serves to increase my anxiety over whether or not something fell out of my bag while rifling through it and if I remembered to grab my ID and ticket off the floor.
3) After finally making it to the gate, rummaging through my luggage 6 times, and checking to make sure I am still holding my paperwork 12 times, I now have to worry about boarding and seating drama. Since my seat is usually in the very last row thanks to habitually purchasing tickets last minute, I am usually first to board (after firstclass, you bourgeois assholes). However, somehow by the time I’ve walked to the very last row of seats, overhead compartment space is nowhere to be found. Really? On a plane that seats 200+ , the first 20 assholes have somehow managed to multiply their luggage into mutant bags that take up the entire compartment space? Now I have the damning choice to either attempt to cram my bags under my seat or play Jenga with other people’s belongings while being glared at and elbowed by others doing the same.
4) Although I am a fairly small person, I still require legroom and at least one arm rest. Or so I thought. Apparently being young and somewhat still slim (not after this past Christmas’ cookie binge…) there is an unwritten rule somewhere stating that if I have a middle seat, I get neither of my arm rests and if my leg room is not occupied by my carry-on, it is reserved for my seatmates’ coats. If I am lucky enough to score a window or aisle seat, the middle seat is almost always occupied by what I refer to as a seat oozer: a rather large person with a rather large butt, belly, legs and arms. Window seats afford me the luxury of having my ass squished under the arm rest and aisle seats have my elbows and legs constantly bumped by patrons and flight attendants passing by due to said oozer’s oozing body parts. How is this psychological you may ask? It takes an enormous amount of willpower and patience to not go completely fucking apeshit and start shoving oozing body parts back on their side.
5) In the past year and a half, I have taken 11 trips requiring flights; do the math and this equals 22 flights. Of these 22 flights, a grand total of SIX have been direct flights. This equates to a lot of layovers. Which equates to a lot of running, missed luggage and a second round of searching for overhead compartment space and battles for seat space. This also means that what should be a 4.5 hour flight plus 2 hours of airport time now becomes a whole day ordeal, or as is the case when I fly East, it means I am often resigned to taking red eyes. Try being pleasant to family and friends after an all night flight of seat oozing, crying babies, and recirculated air. It’s not easy I tell you…
Along with this assortment of psychological symptoms, I also suffer from an array of physical ailments, which shall be presented to you soon…
Kitty and I travel in similar fashions: SLEEPING
Drugged and bound: the only way that cat can ever relax. You should try it the next time you travel. Just make sure you booze up on the final leg of the journey. Making your way through a major airport to a remote gate after too many milehigh cocktails is murder.
ReplyDeleteYou look peaceful and smiley in the car, though.