Trade You My Boarding Pass For A Ball Gag?

I just boarded the 3rd plane of the day. The 11th hour of travel that included waiting, dozing, standing and queuing up to an endless turnstile of security checkpoints and gift shops. Finally, I’ve made it onto the 3rd plane of the day. 

I’m usually in coach when I fly but there were a few times I was brave enough to sweet talk an attendant or just happen to be in both the right place and time and was upgraded to business class. Merely using the word “class” is already indicative of a better world to live in, where the air is sweeter on the breath and the drinks flow in glasses that never sit empty. “Coach” sounds like a fancy little word used to disguise the word “economy”. Sigh.

So, I’m in coach, in the window seat with two fine folks next to me. The back of my seat is being kicked about once or twice every minute. A child in the seat ahead of me is crying about something he keeps explaining through sniffles and snot snorts, words I cannot begin to understand, but he’s qutie upset about something. Mom is sitting next to him holding an infant who won’t stop crying, and dad is sitting next to her just staring straight ahead into the television screen embedded in the seat ahead of him. All at once, there are two kids crying and one kicking my seat and we haven’t even taxied from the gate yet. I’m bookended by beautiful children who are delivering the wrath of hell upon this poor 757.

Traveling has its grandiose moments of enlightenment and awe but it also has situations that test the very edges of one’s patience and self-control. Traveling is the ultimate exercise of human existence. I love it. I hate it. I can’t get enough of it.

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