ADVANTAGE BELGIUM

I’m sure there are others, but here are a few things I like better in Belgium than the good ol’ USA. Most are food-related, of course.

· There’s no ‘rush, rush, rush’ when you go out to eat. Belgians believe in relaxing and enjoying the dining experience. Turning over of tables does not exist. Dinners last two hours. It’s a nice concept.
· Speaking of dinners, coffee is always served with a little treat. A cookie, a piece of chocolate. It’s a nice touch. Why don’t we do that?
· Smart cars are and smaller cars in general rule the road. They beat the heck out of those silly Hummers. Are our egos bigger such that we need bigger cars?
· Maybe we have to have stricter airport security here, but it’s nice not to have to take off your shoes, put your liquids in a clear plastic bag, and remove your laptop from your carry on bag. It sure makes the lines move faster.
· Airport prestige clubs are actually prestigious. It’s all self-serve and there is a great assortment of beer, wine, soda, and food. The Admirals Club in JFK had nothing but a bowl of pretzels and a bar that you had to order drinks. Lame.
· Sandwiches or broojes are served on crusty bread and not that soft square-shaped stuff.
· Mussels. They’re 10 times the size of the one’s you get here. Not sure why that’s the case.
· Chocolate. Duh.

BLACKOUT

Did you hear about the big blackout in Miami? This was my view. Granted, I'm in Belgium and missed the whole thing.

P.S. Did you miss me?

ANOTHER STREAK COMES TO AN END

There’s no doubt life was not meant for perfection. I’ve had some good streaks but slowly they’re all coming to an end this year. 30 years without a ticket and now three in the last six months. And now this.

As much as I travel and as many horrible experiences I seem to have every time I do, I’ve never missed a flight because of my own personal lateness. Like getting a ticket, I think luck has a lot to do with it. Maybe your connecting flight is delayed, maybe your gate is close by, maybe the security line was short, or even more of a miracle, it was fast-moving. Unfortunately for me, none was the case today. Mistake #1 was hitting the wrong button on my blackberry alarm. It went off at 4:00 a.m. and instead of hitting snooze, I hit the ‘kill’ switch. I planned on getting out of bed by 4:30 but instead, awoke in a panic state at 4:50. My flight was scheduled to leave at 6:52. I did my best to make up some time and really, everything was going smoothly. I got out of the hotel, drove to the airport, checked out my rent-a-car and got on the shuttle bus in good shape. As I sat on the bus, I realized I picked out the wrong shirt which really didn’t match my pants or socks, but oh well. I was going to make my flight.

I got to the USAir counter and breezed through it. No checked bags for me anymore. Only one more hurdle. Security. As I walked up to the USAir section of security, it looked like I was home free. Lots of open space. But as I turned the corner, I looked in disbelief at what looked like the line for Space Mountain at Disney World. The sign said, “Approximately a 20 minute wait from here.” I knew the only way that for that to be true would be if the line moved quickly. I looked at my watch. 6:03. I still had time. But standing in line for five minutes going nowhere, I realized that the 20 minute sign was either a joke or a dream. I had to negotiate four long lines of up and back. I reached the end of the first one, and it was 6:13. A quick calculation and I realized that I’d get to the front of the line at 6:43 and THEN I’d have to go through all the checkpoints. I needed a miracle. I needed something or someone to speed up. I got none of it. Not to mention the fact that it was hot as hell in that line. Not to mention that somehow, the zipper on my bag got tangled in the security rope and I couldn’t move. Yeah. I was stuck and I couldn’t get the damn thing free. It took three nice passengers to help me finally separate my bag from the damn rope. I could hear the laughs. Great. I was providing free entertainment.

I got to the front of the line at 6:37. I had a choice of three TSA agents. Naturally, I picked the slowest. The lady in front of me had a passport and she was having issues. The agent next to me was passing people through briskly while I just stood there. I finally switched lines and got through. The agent then told me to pick any line, a skill I sucked at. They all looked equally slow. The agents were shouting to remove all electronic devices and power cords and all that suspicious stuff. I threw all that crap in a tray, took off my shoes, and waited at the metal detector. With my luck, I thought for sure a beep would go off and I’d be detained but no. I actually got through. My carry-on came through. My shoes came through. The laptop and all the power cords came through. While I waited for my computer bag, I crammed on my already laced shoes. 6:42. There was still hope.

Aah, but this is me we’re talking about. No luck Charlie. There came the TSA agent holding my computer bag asking folks who it belonged to. At that moment, I realized this streak was for certain, over. I was so frustrated. I didn’t even look at the guy. I kept muttering f-bombs to myself at how ass-backward our security system in this country really is. I’m all about being safe and all that but there truly HAS to be a better way. The guy asked me if I had any sharp objects, weapons, blah blah. He had all my shit out on a table. And then came the reason for my detainment. He held up two objects. Clearly security risks. Afrin nose spray and a spray bottle of eyeglass cleaner. “Sir, these MUST be in a clear plastic bag. In the future please comply…” I stopped listening. And I didn’t bother to argue with the guy about how inconsistent the rules are. I’d traveled all over the place with those items and had never had a problem. Not to mention that my carry on was filled with toiletries, hair gels, shampoos, etc. yet apparently those were not a problem. 6:48.

Gate A-22. All the way across the terminal and all the way down. I wasn’t going to run. I mean, I had no chance anyway unless the plane left late. I thought about how many times I sat on a plane waiting for god-knows-what and seemingly always leaving late. I did walk as fast as my two legs could go. I got to the gate at 6:52. Not a soul in sight. The gate agent was still there and said her apologies to the guys in front of me and to me as well. The doors were closed and we needed to rebook. Streak over. As I rebooked, the USAir agents were really surprised at how many calls they were getting about the long, slow security lines and that they needed to alert the tower to hold up flights. They were at a loss as to why TSA didn’t properly staff up for the always busy Monday morning rush. Me, too.

Yeah, in the end it’s my own fault for being 20 minutes later than I’d hoped, and that 20 minutes would have made the difference in me making that flight and allowing the streak to go on. But streaks are meant to end and luck runs out as it all did this morning. As I walked slowly to my new assigned gate, I couldn’t help but notice how many people were running. Running with panic on their faces knowing that the fate I just accepted was about to become their reality. I looked to my right and shook my head. That security line wasn’t getting any shorter, and it certainly wasn’t moving any faster.

BIGGEST WASTE OF A DAY EVER?

5:00 a.m. Get up
6:00 a.m. Leave for the airport for my week-long Chicago trip.
8:30 a.m. Flight for Chicago departs
11:30 a.m. Flight arrives in Chicago. Change watch to 10:30 a.m.
10:30 a.m. Email Chicago contact letting her know I’ve arrived and that I’ll be in the office around noontime
10:40 a.m. Receive email from Chicago contact saying she and her entourage are going to be in Miami the entire week and didn’t a certain someone notify me of this?
10:45-11:45 a.m. Make calls trying to straighten out an the entire mess. Certain someone goofed.
Noon Book a 2:10 flight back to Miami. Trip canceled.
5:40 p.m. Flight to Miami leaves 3 ½ hours late
9:30 p.m. Flight arrives in Miami
10:30 p.m. Arrive home. Sinus killing me from plane. Laptop broken.
11:00 p.m. Good nite.

The travel curse strikes again.

TRAVEL TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS

I’ve been convinced for some time now that I am travel cursed. I’ve written about some of my travel woes, and people who work with me love to hear my travel stories. I feel sorry for people who travel with me because ultimately they are trapped in my travel-cursed world. There was a group of us at work sharing and laughing at my travel tales of woe. A colleague of mine had the unenviable task of traveling with me for a business trip. He joked that nothing could go wrong this time because there would be no language barrier and no trains to catch. A simple trip to Chicago and Dallas. I told the group that I WOULD have stories for them when I got back.

I left the house last Sunday on a sunny day and met my colleague at the airport. He’s the same guy who said nothing could go wrong. I told him that he’s in my world and to expect the unexpected. Strangely, things were going according to plan. I actually got to the gate without incident. We were about 15 minutes from boarding when, seemingly out of the blue, a huge storm blew in. It rained hard for an hour, and we heard the airport had been temporarily closed. I looked at my colleague and told him, “It’s starting!” An hour delay is fairly minor in my travel world; I wouldn’t even consider it abnormal.

Abnormal began upon landing. I was sitting in a bulkhead row directly across from the flight attendant who was sitting in her jump seat. The pilot did his best to contribute to the curse by bouncing the landing really hard and abruptly. The flight attendant jumped and let out a little screech. I felt something invade my space, and I looked up to see the ceiling hanging by a thread by a bunch of wires about six inches from my head. I could only laugh. I’ve never seen anything like that except maybe in the movies. I looked back to my colleague who was supposed to be sitting next to me, but was one row behind me. He was laughing and telling me how happy he was that he wasn’t sitting next to me.

We went to get our bags and in the span of one hour watched our flight switch from carousel to carousel to finally disappearing all-together. I told my colleague that this was just all part of the curse. Our bags finally did show up and we’d made it through our first leg of the journey.

Once again, my travel stories became the topic of conversation with our group in Chicago. I told the group that this trip’s occurrences were only minor, and that I fully expected to have more stories for them by the time I got to Dallas. I sorta had a head start because according to American Airlines, I didn’t have a seat on the flight. I called our Admin. in Miami to have her check into it. She assured me I had a seat. Perhaps, but according to the American Airlines website, I didn’t. The next day, I decided to try to check in online. It said I couldn’t check in because I didn’t have a seat. I had that feeling that I was headed for another one of those weird situations.

We got to O’Hare, and there were seemingly a million people in the terminal. I didn’t think much of it since O’Hare’s one of the busiest airports in the country. But things began to get strange. The lines for check-in were huge. I saw a news camera, then another. After a long wait at the self-service check-in kiosk, I swiped my card and waited in anticipation to see if I had a seat or not on the 6 p.m. flight. Good news/bad news. I was surprised to see that I indeed had a seat. Unfortunately, my seat was for a 3 p.m. flight the next day. I told my colleague I’d see him in Dallas tomorrow. He laughed but when he checked in he discovered he was on the very same plane that I was on. Time to investigate.

According to the American Airlines rep, our flight was canceled. She then told me that hundreds of flights were canceled due to weather problems and that the whole airport was a mess. Aah, that explains the news cameras. And now that I looked around, I saw more and more news stations covering this “event.” Our options? Stand in a two-hour line or call American to re-book a flight. I didn’t like either option, so I went into scramble mode. I called our inept travel agent, and told her the story. She started looking for flights. American flights were sold out until that 3 p.m. flight the next day. I told her to search other airlines and she came up with an 8 a.m. United flight so I told her to book it. That meant we were staying in Chicago for the night so I told her to start looking for hotels for us. She said everything was sold out. So I called our Chicago folks who gave me five or six hotel options closely. After five sold outs, I got us two rooms at a nice Embassy Suites which even had a shuttle service. We were all set. My colleague gave me kudos for handling everything so smoothly and quickly. I told him I was used to it. I guess what disturbed me most was that when I went to the online check-in earlier in the day, it made no mention of the flight being canceled. It just told me I had no seat. My confidence in American was waning.

The next day started out normally enough, but it didn’t take long for that to change. I got pulled out of the security line for pre-screening. I looked back at my colleague who was, once again, laughing. Well, that was a mistake because since our itinerary was booked together, it meant he was coming with me to be pre-screened. There were no further incidents like the shoe incident, but when I got my bag back, there was a problem. They broke the handle on my bag. “File a claim,” was the cheery response I got. It was a pain trying to drag that bag around the airport with a short handle. The curse continued to haunt.

We made it to Dallas without further incident, and I had a wealth of travel stories to tell my new Dallas colleagues. Once again, I told them that I’d likely have another story for them when I got home to Miami. But could it be? No further strange happenings? I checked my bag because I didn’t want to lug it around the airport with the broken handle. I got through security with no issues and was on board the plane on-time and I had a seat. We only waited an extra 30 minutes before we taxied. Something about shifting the weight of the plane. We took off and landed fine. Yay. I said goodbye to my colleague who conceded that I was definitely travel cursed. I went to go get my bag. As usual, I was one of the last passengers waiting for their bag. Just once I’d like for my bag to come off early. And then the carousel stopped. No more bags were coming out. Could American really have lost my bag? A direct flight, no delays. How could this be? I waited two-hours in the baggage lost line. They told me my bag was removed from the plane when they did that weight shift thing. No worries though. It was on the next flight and I’d be getting a call from American at night and should have my bag the next day. Well, I got no call and got no bag. That was Friday. It’s now Monday and I still don’t have my bag. Oh yeah, I’m convinced. I’m most definitely travel cursed. And now it’s gonna get complicated. I leave for Phoenix on Wednesday. I have a feeling my bag won’t be here by then, and I may never see it. But perhaps my biggest fear is the airline I’m flying on Wednesday. Yeah, you guessed it. American.

A DAY (PLUS 2 HOURS) IN THE LIFE

It took me 26 hours to get home from Brussels. Traveling, even if you’re in first class, isn’t easy especially if you’re doing the international thing. But hey, I made it and that’s what counts. Along the way, I noted these observations:

• Why do people wear sunglasses inside the airport?
• A guy next to me ate a muffin, put the garbage on the seat next to him, got up, and left. Who does such a thing?
• I don’t know if Europe’s airport security is any looser than in the U.S., but it’s most definitely faster.
• Speaking of which, after I trudged through airport security in Miami, a TSA agent was standing behind me in the Dunkin Donuts coffee line. The line was long and we weren’t going anywhere which prompted this pot calling the kettle black quote from the TSA agent, “I can’t believe this line isn’t moving any faster.”
• What’s the big deal over these elite airport clubs? Crown Room, President’s Club, Admiral’s Club, Diamond Club, blah blah. They make it sound so fancy. It practically takes an FBI investigation to get in these stupid clubs. In Newark, I handed the agent an invitation card issued to me in Brussels. I figured I’d give them the card and that would be that. Just ahead of me, two guys were denied access. They ONLY had first class domestic tickets instead of first class international tickets. I don’t know of any first class ticket you can buy for under a thousand dollars. But you can’t get in the President’s Club for that? Anyway, the agent took my card and asked me if I had an international leg on my flight. “Yes.” Not good enough. “Where,” she asked. “Brussels,” I said. And now I’m thinking, what good is the invitation card if I can’t get in? “May I see your ID,” she demanded. For crying out loud. OK, I understand if I’m at will call picking up Broadway tickets or football tickets, but what are they protecting here? She finally let me in. You know what they had in there? Cheese, fruit, crackers, chips, and a bar. Big deal. People pay hundreds of dollars for that? I guess to most, the bar is the big deal but I’m not really interested in getting plastered before I board a plane so that I can throw up. Oh sure, there are comfy chairs, a TV, and magazines no one’s ever heard of. And there is free wireless, but nowadays, isn’t the whole airport wireless? OH OH! I just figured it all out. Mystery solved. The reason for paying big bucks for a bunch of nothing, iron clad security to get in the place, and the real reason for these clubs being so popular. It has its own bathroom, and it’s 50% cleaner than the public ones in the terminal. I change my mind. It’s worth all the fuss.
• How come when they announce pre-boarding for first class, all 300 passengers at the gate get up and stand in line?
• You get silverware in first class, right? But did you know you get three knives, three forks, and a spoon? Even in the finest restaurants, I’ve never gotten so many utensils.
• My mixed nuts selection consisted of 100% cashews.
• Flight attendants in first class smile a lot more than in coach.
• I don’t think first class food tastes any better than coach. It just looks better and the selections are fancier.
• In first class, the video equipment and seat are so difficult to operate, by the time you figure it out, the flight is over.
• Want to know the definition of tired? Observe people in an airport gate waiting for a delayed flight at 2:30 in the morning.

A GRAND (PLACE) BRUSSELS ADVENTURE

For a better view of pix, check out the flikr badge in the margin below.

Like rebooting, once in a while we could all use a good adventure to stimulate the senses. I debated with myself as to whether I wanted t make the effort to take on a big adventure to the unknown. At first I was against it. I woke up at 2:30 pm once again still not used to the time change and going to bed at 6 am. Then my Belgian blogging friend EAO said it was raining in Brussels so I just figured I’d hang out in Gent. But when I walked around Gent Sunday, it was dead. Most shops were closed and the streets were virtually empty. Even my little bakery was closed. I guess Saturday is the big day to go out as it was packed with people and all the shops were open. It was then that I decided to take on the adventure of going to the famous Grote Markt (Grand Palace) in Brussels.

The adventure began simply enough with a cab ride to the train station. I picked a short line and got my round-trip ticket for my train which happened to be leaving in all of three minutes. I did a full sprint to train platform 10 hoping I’d make it. I wasn’t lucky enough to have the train leave on platform one. I had to run all the way out to number 10. I got there right as the bell went off. I did a double take at the monitor to make sure I was on the right train. I have this bad habit of getting on wrong trains. It looked right, but I had no time to figure anything out so I just got on. I sat down and felt the ol’ heart pumping not only from the sprint, but also from the rush and anxiety you get from these journeys to the unknown. I was 90 percent certain I was on the right train. I just hoped I would see my station within the next 15 minutes.

Damn. Big decision #1. Stay or get off the train? We stopped at a familiar station (Brussels Midi), and there was an announcement made in Dutch. My stop, Brussels Central, was mentioned in there somewhere. I didn’t know whether to get off at Midi and get a connecting train to Central or to stay on this train to get to Central. De volgende halte is Bruxelles Centraal. Le prochain arret est Bruxelles Central. I was hoping that in either language, it meant that the next stop was Central. So I stayed on the train, heart pumping once again. We komen aan in Bruxelles Centraal. Nous arrivons a Bruxelles Central. Sacre Bleu, I made it. Now the walking adventure began. The search for famous Grote Markt.

I walked out of the train station and looked for any sign of the Grote Markt. Aaah, I found a directional sign and headed that way while looking for a church spire landmark that EAO told me about. I spotted what I thought was a church spire but really had no idea where I was going. So I just took a left and headed for some of the beautiful architecture I saw in the near distance. Just about then, a light rain began to fall seemingly from nowhere. It was sunny only seconds ago. I grabbed my hat and windbreaker out of my “survivor” bag. No umbrella for this silly American.

After a nice 30 minute walk up and back down the streets, I still didn’t think I was any closer to Grote Market. I’m not sure how I missed it. It was a huge square, big, famous, tons of people. On my way back to where I started, the skies opened up big time, again seemingly out of nowhere. My skimpy jacket and hat were no match for this storm complete with lightning and thunder. As I ran, I spotted a low level parking lot sheltered beautifully from the rain. So I sat under the shelter and watch the storm amid flashes of bright lightning and claps of loud thunder. A typical “me” adventure. Finally, after about 30 minutes, the rain slowed and I could hear the thunder now rumbling in the distance. Thank you Belgacom for the free shelter. Time to continue the adventure.

I ambled my way back down the slippery, wet streets greeted by the sun. I couldn’t believe how fast the weather changed yet again. I followed one more directional sign toward Grote Markt. So far, I’d not seen any of EAO’s “must sees.” You know, sometimes when you’re on these adventures you end up finding a place or landmark purely by accident. Accident or not, I was glad to see a familiar name from EAO’s email. It was the Galeries St. Hubert, an enclosed shopping mall or arcade with shops on either side and had a long tunnel-like ceiling enclosure. EAO told me this was Europe’s first pure shopping arcade founded in 1847! The view inside the arched opening was magnificent. Clothing, food, cafes, and plenty of chocolate. After making a must chocolate purchase, I wondered on. I was searching for a stovepipe Charlie Brown-type cap to buy, but no luck thus far.

When I got back outside, lo and behold, I ran into a second EAO landmark. Rue de Bouchers. Wow, what a view! I looked down the narrow cobblestone street as far as I could see and both sides were crammed with shops and cafes. As I walked farther down, the shops disappeared, and I was surrounded with wall-to-wall cafes on both sides of the street. It cracked me up. Like survey takers in a mall, waiters begged for your attention. They all had similar lines, “Best and freshest food here, sir,” spoken in a French accent. I didn’t really have to believe them. I mean, most of the cafes had their fresh seafood actually displayed out front. It was beautiful and a rare sight to behold for a foodie like me. I couldn’t imagine having to actually pick one of these places to eat out of the hundreds on the street. My route was getting complicated because now there were side streets filled with similar looks of shops and cafes. I wanted to go down each street, but I stayed the course and figured I could go back later after I found the actual Grote Markt square. Bouchers ended so I made a left and then another left hoping to catch some of those side streets I had mist. Whoaaa Nellie! I looked up and looky hear what I stumbled upon; the one and only Grote Markt square! Hokie smokes Bullwinkle, what a sight! It literally took my breath away. This wasn’t your everyday town square folks. The spectacular Town Hall and the surrounding buildings date back to the 15th century and had to be rebuilt in the 19th century due to wars. I did a few laps around the square and took in all the history before returning to tourist mode and whipping out my camera like the rest of the crowd. It felt cool to be in that moment. A historic place, a worldly famous one, and a sense of accomplishment for being able to finish the adventure.

I went down a few side streets and saw more chocolate shops. One even had a chocolate fountain spewing ribbons of milk chocolate. Mmmmm. I found a souvenir shop and found something for Andy and even found my Charlie Brown hat for a mere six Euros. I went back to the square to locate EAO’s bar that he mentioned. I simply HAD to see the hanging marionettes. I took my last two pictures of the bar before my batteries went dead. After a Belgian beer of EAO’s choice, I was feeling my own batteries wearing out. I came back around and saw the entrance to St Hubert so I guess I made a complete circle. Heck, I owned this town now. I knew exactly where the train station was and headed back. I passed the spot where I came into the town only then realizing I should have turned right instead of left. Oh well, part of the adventure, huh?

In the train station, I studied the board but decided to ask a clerk just in case. No wrong trains at this late hour. The 7:27 took me back to Gent no problem. The 30 minute ride gave me time to type this story and gave me time to reflect on what a great day I had and best of all, what a great decision I made to journey into the unknown.

DIFFERENT

I'm back and loving it in Belgium where it's different. The cars, the streets, the people, the customs, the culture, the food, the architecture, the clothes, the eye glasses, the beer, the language, TV, the currency, heck just about everything compared to life in the States. My blogger screen is in Dutch! Different makes you change your programming. It's like you have to hit control/alt/delete and reboot yourself. I think we all need to reboot once in a while. It's refreshing.

STARBUCKS ALTERS MUFFIN FORMULA (and other travel musings)

Has anyone noticed Starbucks has changed their recipe for low-fat muffins? Yeah, their muffins were actually very tasty despite being low-fat. Now, all the toppings are front-loaded into the muffin tops. Like, once you eat the top, if you can manage it, you’ll find nary a blueberry after that and are stuck with a clump of tasteless batter. Yuck. I guess they opted for a cheaper supplier. Boo, Starbucks!

One bad thing about red-eye flights is that most of the airport shops and restaurants are closed. I got lucky; this one Mexican restaurant/bar was open. I sat down at the bar, looked at the menu, and was all ready to order a blue corn quesadilla when the female bartender said to me, “I can only give you a drink sweetie; the kitchen’s closed.” Damn, now I had to go to Wendy’s if I was to eat dinner. I hadn’t stepped into a Wendy’s in over three years and nothing looked good to eat. So I ordered a large fry and a large Diet Coke. Perfect for my seefood diet where I have been eating junk food for the past two weeks. There were no available seats so I took my ‘dinner’ across to the nearly empty Mexican joint. I sat down and three fries later, a waitress (sorry, she doesn’t deserve to be called a server) came up to me and said, “Sir you can’t have that to-go cup in here.” I quickly told her that it was because her fine establishment refused to serve me food that I was forced to go elsewhere. She said, “Well technically, you can’t bring food in here either. It’s a health code violation.” I got up in the middle of her spiel ready to curse her out. I mean, it was 10 friggin p.m. and the place was empty. Who cares? You think there was a health inspector handy ready to pounce on me for my illegal fries? But I kept my cool and just walked out without saying anything. She was still spieling as I left.

These damn money-hungry airlines. Why else would you invent the dreaded middle seat? More revenue, of course. The middle seat is worthless thanks primarily to the mindless and thoughtless passengers on my left and right. The luxury of a window or aisle seat is that you have much more room. You can lean into the aisle or against the window and every little bit helps in those cramped planes. I always do the lean to spare the poor middle seat passenger. But people just don’t think. Aisles and windows constantly take both arm rests leaving the middle seat with no arms to rest. And jeez people, if you’re gonna sleep, please lean away from me. You’ve got the whole aisle or window to lean. Why cave me in further? The last flight I was on, the window guy was snoring in my ear, and the aisle guy was literally leaning on my right shoulder for support. Aren’t most airlines on the brink of bankruptcy anyway? What’s another 60 less middle seats? C’mon guys, lose the middles.

I could never be a pilot. I’d have to wear that ridiculous-looking hat. That black and white thing that looks like it was purchased at Disneyworld. Nope. Couldn’t do the hat. And why are they always walking around with the hats on? Is the terminal considered inside the ropes and thus, they have to wear the hats? Why not wear the hat only in the plane itself? Do football players wear their helmets in public or just on the playing field itself? I think the pilot hat needs to be reevaluated.

You ever notice there are never enough seats at the gate? Not nearly. If flights average 150-200 people, why have only 100 seats? And then you have those inconsiderate but lucky passengers who not only find a seat, but they put their carry-on bags etc. on that rare empty seat next to them. Uhhh, excuse me?

Whenever I lean toward having more kids someday, all it takes is a little trip through the airport to smack that thought clear out of my mind. The whole deal with the strollers, car seats, diaper bags, lugging that stuff around along with the kids, the crying on the plane trying to keep the kids quieted and comforted as 200 angry strangers look your way. And do you ever notice that the crying kids always fall asleep about 10 minutes before the plane lands? I’m not sure I could handle the stress. I mean, I can barely handle the stress of a tasteless low-fat blueberry muffin. Can you imagine?

I don’t think I’ve ever sat next to a pretty woman on a plane. I’m usually stuck with people like the inconsiderate pair I mentioned above. I don’t think I’d mind it so much if a pretty woman chose to sleep on me. Oh crap, there’s the announcement for my “zone.” "Boarding zone nine." Why can’t they say, “Boarding rows 10-15,” like they used to? What’s the difference anyway? They're boarding the plane the same exact way? Do they really think they're fooling us? Well, I’m in lucky seat number 11D. You guessed it. Middle.