I love to travel.  I mean really.  Love to travel.  Most people do, so it’s not an earth shattering confession or anything.  However, I hate to fly.  I loath it.  I think it grotesque and inhuman.  The noise, the lines, the waiting, the sitting, the smell, the close air, the other people, the lighting, the pressure, the noise, the noise, and the noise.  I hate them all so very much.  I’ve decided these two things are NOT mutually exclusive.  I am allowed to love going to new places and to hate the mode of going.  Both.  I can feel both.  I do feel both, so there.

So I was sitting in a plane last week, among my co-sufferers.  The plane itself was in-flight, but that fact has no bearing on my little tale so I shall strike it from here.  …  No never-mind - I’m way too lazy to delete all that and not artistic enough to actually use the strike-through formatting to make this look all in vogue-ie.  I digress.  So, I’m on the plane, trying very hard not to exist, or at least to feel nothing, when a conversation intrudes upon my thoughts.  Not thoughts really, as I was trying to think of nothing, so the conversation intruded on my zen state of nothing.  And if I’m going to keep to the rigid facts, it wasn’t really a conversation either.  Just a question and an answer.  A simple question.  An unexpected answer that I found amusing.  The answer is the reason for this little narrative.  Don’t worry, we’ll get to it.  PATIENCE!  The plane attendants/stewards are making their way down the aisle, with the “complimentary” snack and drink. (Don’t let them fool you – you’re paying dearly for that chew and that sip!)  They, the stewards, are still a couple rows up from me.  They create a nice diversion with their choreographed moves and trim matching outfits.  The service cart pauses.  The one with the dark hair leans first to her left.  She opens her mouth to speak.  To question.  And the question is: “would you like cookies or peanuts?”  She’s asked this question a thousand times.  A million times.  What will the poor urchin choose?  The cookies?  We are flying Delta, and they do have those exceptional cinnamon cookies.  Whoever it is should choose cookies.  I myself have already planned to do so.  The peanuts?  Ewe.  Why are those even an option?  I mean, who’s choosing peanuts?  I wait for the answer.  I’m actually listening for the answer.  Not even the dark haired flight attendant is listening for the choice, and she was the one to ask the question!  No, she’s bored.  She looks bored.  Too board to care.  But not as board as me.  Because I sit, several rows back, trying to zone out, and I’m listening.  Cookies or peanuts.  Riveting. How long has this exchange taken?  How long does it take to pause and lean in and ask “cookies or peanuts”?  A moment.  A mere moment.  How long does it take to answer such a question?  Do you need to pause, to consider?  NO.  The answer followed the question immediately.  I didn’t need to wait.  I didn’t have time to wait.  I assigned myself the action of ‘waiting’ for dramatic effect.  Cookies or peanuts.  ”No peanuts.  I’m very allergic to nuts.  No one around me can have them – I can’t be around them.  Also, my seat won’t go back.”  

I absolutely love to travel.  I want to go all over the world.  Maybe someday I will.  But I hate, oh how I HATE to fly.