Flightfear a.k.a. the Garlic Queen a.k.a. Opera Anyone?

   On the road again, I just can't wait to get on- no- OFF the road again.

   It seems like I just got home from Ohio (maybe because I did) and now I find myself in New York. My step-daughter (the baby of the family) is graduating from high school and so I found myself in a car and then on a plane, traveling once more.

   Now let me explain something- I HATE traveling, but I especially hate traveling by plane. I have extreme Flightfear. Planeaphobia.

   No really, Fallaphobia and Crashaphobia.

   And so, with as much courage as I could muster, I headed to the airport and boarded a plane.

   Now at Downleft Airlines, (for the sake of not being sued I have opted to re-name the airline on which I flew and hope to NEVER fly again), they have what's called 'open seating.'

   Let me just say, I HATE open seating. This was a BAD concept. Due to this complete failure of an idea, there is no assigned passenger seating, with the exception of course of first class. For the rest of us peons, it's first come first serve.

   But first come does not mean the first to the gate. Apparently in an effort to prevent a 'run on the gate' they developed the plan a little further. Each passenger is assigned a number and that is the position in which they are allowed to board the plane. Naturally, by the time my husband and I were allowed to board, all the aisle and window seats were in use leaving only center seats as far as the eye could see.

   This posed a quandary. As I have mentioned, FLIGHTFEAR. So what's a girl to do?

   Naturally I inquired of the passengers, "Which of you is willing to hold my hand during the take-off and landings and possibly hold my hair while I barf should there be any unruly turbulence? Hmmm?"

   There were no takers.

   I eventually found myself sandwiched between a heavy set man, who thought he owned half of my seat and the Garlic Queen. This granola eating, sandal wearing girl was either taking LOTS of garlic pills or bathed in the stuff.

   I can't tell you how thrilled I was.

   I was already nauseated (thank you Garlic Queen) and we hadn't even left the ground yet.

   The flight attendant began his announcements, starting with the phrase, "As this is a termination flight-"

WHAT? Termination?? Who the hell booked this??

   Fear quickly turned to panic and I was searching out my husband, who was a row back on the other side. I could see him, only by leaning past Miss Garlic Fest 2012, but he could not see me. Not that he was trying to. He was already settling in for his nap.

   Meanwhile, I wanted off this plane. Now.

   Termination flight. There are certain words that should NEVER be put together. Termination and flight are two of them!

   We finally took off and I managed to neither hyperventilate, nor vomit. An accomplishment on my part. I did however go through Listerine strips like they were M&M's (the best candy EVER). They helped keep my mouth from going dry, kept me from getting sick, and squelched the garlic reek beside me.

   However, they did not drive away the portly man who was now using even more of my seat. An inch more and he would owe me a dinner. And a movie.

   Personally, I think there should be an unwritten rule; if you have the aisle or window seat, there's your prize, you are NOT allowed to use the armrests as well. You want a place to rest your arms, sit in the middle. Just sayin'.

   Eventually I got out my MP3 (yeah, still rockin' it old school- be glad it wasn't a Walkman). I set the volume as loud as it would reach, turned the ear buds out a bit, and then set it to play Linkin Park. Apparently my fellow passengers did not approve of my musical selection (thank God) and the Garlic Queen leaned a bit toward the aisle while the Portly Passenger folded himself forward over his knees (no mean feat) and spent the next hour and fifteen minutes that way.

   Point to me.

   After a relatively rough (though my husband assured me not perilous) journey, we landed- kudos to the pilot who stuck the landing- and we disembarked.

   To catch our connecting flight.

   Oh goody.

   We lucked out on the next plane and landed two seats together, giving me someone I could clutch on to during the takeoff and landing- hey I had that added to the wedding vows- till death do us part you WILL suffer bruised fingers during any and all times of fear.

   Among the other passengers on this flight were a woman who had marinated in her perfume- just a suggestion- if your perfume waters the eyes of the person next to you and causes oxygen molecules to shrivel up and die around you, you're using entirely too much; also a delightful young boy, just under two years old, who prefers to watch TV and does not understand or wish to cater to the 'turn off all electronic equipment' rule. He is a first soprano who can hit and sustain a high D for twenty minutes straight without a breath. It was AWESOME.

Linkin Park couldn't shut this kid out. He had more lung capacity than Brunhilda, (from the Wagner opera (which sucks), not to be confused with Broomhilda the comic strip I remember from when I was a kid (which was awesome)).

   By the time we landed I was deaf in one ear and all the hairs in my nose had been singed and had fallen out.

So here I sit, half deaf and nose-hairless in the hotel room writing this and living in fear of our return flight home.

   I wonder if I could walk it?