People in airports are weird. There’s a dude here who looks like Blaine (his name is Blaine!?) from Pretty in Pink. Okay, he actually looks more like James Spader than the other guy (Andrew McCarthy?) but he’s wearing an outfit that would make 1980s yuppies proud. Also, a woman just walked by me wearing furry house slippers. I mean, I understand wanting to get through security quickly but really, flip flops are more traditional. Traveling is a very disturbing process, mostly because of all the weirdos. For example there’s a bizarre woman at this gate writing a blog on a beat-up laptop, and her hair is sticking straight up in the world’s most awkward faux-hawk. For those just joining us, I’m being self-referential.
Flying isn’t my favorite mode of long distance travel. It’s not my least favorite either. If I were to rank it, I would put it slightly behind “riding in the back seat of the full sized SUV my dad is driving” and just ahead of “school bus over-capacity with unwashed soldiers in full battle rattle.” My favorite mode of travel is probably driving myself. I like to drive; it’s why I was a truck driver in the Army. I’d almost always rather drive than fly. That way I get to be in control and I can see some sights. My window seat on the flight I just got off had a charming view of one of the jets. I it was perfect for heeding my friend’s warning to watch for gremlins ripping up the engine. I’m glad to report no mischievous creatures hampered the flight or my sanity.
My seat for the flight was the very last one. Seriously, 32F: my back was against the toilet. I was dead last getting off the plane. That wasn’t a big deal, but I really had to find a bathroom by the time I got to the terminal. I think that’s why I prefer to drive myself: The bathroom breaks are at my discretion, rather than at the convenience of two sleeping people in an extra narrow row that seemed like a hastily planned after-market add on to cram more people on an already full plane rather than part of the aircraft’s original design.
Being at my “final destination” (what a disturbing portent of a phrase) is what I actually love about traveling. Exploring new locations, eating local food, meeting new and friendly cats—I love it. There was a tiny orange tiger kitten on the airplane. Judging by his vocal dismay, I don’t think he likes flying that much either. He was adorable though. Definitely less annoying than the twenty-something in the seat next to me who kept coughing and blowing her nose through the whole flight. She did not seem familiar with either cough drops or hand sanitizer. If I start coughing in a few days, we’ll know who to blame. Also, she was reading a posthumously published Michael Crichton book so her credibility was already suspect.
In summation, food at the DFW airport is terrible but I found the best Vietnamese restaurant for dinner last night only a few blocks from my hotel. It was a good sign that the Vietnamese owner’s family and friends were all eating there.