I Hate Flying

I like traveling. It’s been three years since I’ve gone anywhere, so I wish I could travel more. That said, I’ll be in the San Francisco Bay Area this weekend. I’ll have a day where I roam the streets of San Francisco, taking in a place that’s not Nebraska for a change. It’ll be a much-needed break from home.

All of that said, I hate flying. Air travel is a pain in the ass. I don’t like the anxiety of whether or not I’m going to make my flight. Or if I’ll make my connection in Phoenix, where I’ll have just less than an hour to make my flight.

I don’t like the uncertainty of scheduled flights. I once had an airline cancel a return flight, forcing me and my family to shorten a vacation. This airline cut every corner possible, all the way down to comfort. The seats were like sitting on pizza boxes. Yet, they still seemed to think we owed them some sort of gratitude.

I don’t like how airlines will nickel and dime travelers. I paid extra to ensure I get a window seat, as aisle seats make me motion sick. I can literally see and feel the plane turn from the aisle, something I never notice from the window. I also paid to protect my ticket, as if my original sum of money wasn’t enough. I basically paid extra for them to not fuck with me. Airlines will charge for extra bags, WiFi, and even printing a boarding pass.

Then there’s all the people. I’m mostly ok with people, for as long as they are spatially aware. I find far too many people are not.

All of that said, I’m getting to go somewhere different. I have noise-canceling earbuds. And I have a chance to experience something for the first time. That’s all I can ask for.