observations on life

All we, like sheep, have gone astray

My husband and I recently flew to and from Florida for a short vacation. We arrived at the airport in Ft. Meyers to fly home, and of course, like all the other passengers, subjected ourselves to humiliation, aggravation, and one more resolution to never fly anywhere ever again.

1) We lined up at the Sheep Chutes, AKA TSA, to wind our way through the labyrinth that leads to an ignominious fate. I’m well acquainted with sheep chutes since my town has had a slaughterhouse/meat packing plant since forever.
2) I finally get to the x-ray line and plunk down my backpack, plastic bag with liquids, and my shoes onto the conveyor belt. The man working there says to me “No. Leave the liquids in your bag and leave your shoes on.” He stuffs my liquids back into my backpack and I put my shoes back on. I walk into the metal detector, it buzzes, and the man working there says, “Your shoes are alarming. You have to take them off.” So I take my fucking shoes back off AGAIN, go through, but my shoes back on AGAIN. As I’m retrieving my stuff from the xray machine, the woman beside me is shaking her head in frustration. I say to her “Sheep. We are all sheep.” She smiles and nods.
3) We go to our gate and there’s no place to sit, so we sit at the next gate instead. There is ONE restroom for “concourse C” at the Ft. Meyers airport. Being adamantly opposed to standing in line in order to pee, when I enter the ladies’ room and see the line, I go back and sit down. I try this four times before there’s no line.
4) We can hear announcements for boarding from other airlines’ loud speakers, but on my way back from my fourth trip to the bathroom I see that our plane is boarding. We can hear OTHER airlines’ announcements, but not our own airline’s announcements.
5)We get on the plane. It’s a 737, the same kind of plane we flew to Florida on when we came, but on this 737, my backpack won’t fit under the sit. I’ve been using this same backpack when I fly for 20 years. It has never not fit under a seat. Finally we wedge it under there, sort of.

6) The flight itself is uneventful, except that I’m squished in the middle seat between my husband on my left and another guy on my right.  For two and a half hours.

7) We, of course, arrive at O’Hare at the C concourse, the one that’s not attached to all the others, and our commuter flight to Sioux Falls always leaves from F concourse.  So we keep walking   keep walking down the escalator, underneath the tarmac, up the escalator, through B, into another sheep chute walkway, past E, and arrive at our gate in F.  Where there is no place to sit.  We have a little time so we decide to go to the (get this) “grab and go” for a sandwich, where my husband stands at the checkout for 20 fricking minutes, waiting to pay for our “grab and go” meal.  It should be “grab and go shoot yourself.”

8) The good news is that my back pack fits easily under the seat of the little commuter plane, but to top it all off, who is on our flight but Kristi Noem, our one and only (fascist republican) representative in Congress from South Dakota, whose facebook page I haunt daily.  The perfect end to a perfect day.


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