Where is the glamour in flying anymore?
As I write this, I’m standing in the United terminal at the Chicago O’Hare airport, waiting for my suitcase. I’ve been waiting here for 45 minutes, after walking out from behind security, and then going past chain link fences to another terminal from where I arrived, avoiding puddles with suspicious slicks and stinky garbage.
The whole airport seems to be under construction. The thing is that O’Hare has been under construction for years now. It will be ready for renovation when the construction is done, at this pace.
The flight was two hours late, but I wasn’t surprised at that. Flights going into and out of O’Hare are nearly always late.
The seat was cramped, and wouldn’t stay up straight, even though I never pressed the button for it to go back. I could hear the guy in back of me grumbling about it.
I never used to check my bag, but now, out of fear of terrorist attack, I have to choose between traveling without the basics that keep me human and putting my bag below. It seems that I lose either way.
I’ve been waiting for the bag for an hour now, and the conveyor belt upon which my bag is supposed to arrive has just been turned off. It doesn’t seem that anyone from my city will be getting their bags any time soon.
In the background, I can hear the announcement, over and over again, that the Department of Homeland Security has raised the alert level to orange.
Whatever happened to the idea that flying on an airplane is a glamorous thing? I wish I’d taken the train.




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