I flew once to Las Vegas. I got up at 4:00 A.M. and made breakfast for my family, got the bags into the car and headed to the airport to be three hours early for the flight as was suggested by the travel agent. When we got there, the monorail that was supposed to take us from the parking lot to the terminal lost power and we had to wait for a shuttle bus. Our terminal was the last one on the route. We got to the ticket counter and had a pleasant conversation with the checkin clerk concerning the fact that our tickets were not recorded in their system. After a warm chat which bordered on mayhem, we paid the fee for too much luggage and headed for the gate. At the security checkpoint we took off our shoes, belts, hats, jackets, and well, modesty prohibits me to go on. We boarded the plane and prepared for a short snooze when we were informed, in the nicest possible way, that the plane we were on was experiencing a problem with the captain's cup holder and we needed to get on a different one. Once everything was sorted out, we started for Las Vegas just as our luggage started for Timbuctu. The flight was pleasant enough considering how tight the seat was, how little leg room there was, how many people you had to wait behind to get to the lavatory, how infrequently the guy next to me bathed, and how many times the stewardess had to tell us that the captain had turned on the seatbelt sign because of turbulance as if I couldn't feel it in my gut. I was pretty starving by the time the stewardess got to me and asked if I wanted the chicken or the steak. By this time she had had it with surley passengers who take, take, take, and give nothing in return. I said I preferred salmon and she asked me if I would like to step outside for a moment. I ended up with a bread sandwich interupted by what was probably balogna. For some reason that I couldn't put my finger on, when I got off the plane I felt lousy. Moonbear might be right, perhaps it was the dry air in the airplane. Las Vegas was great though.
Serves you right, booking your flight on Air Bedlam.
My 16-year-old daughter flatly refuses to fly anymore. Part phobia, part...well, read what Jimmy posted. Perhaps she's the sensible one in the family.