New Mexico. The Intro and Airplane Excitement.
I don't mind flying.
I really don't. I've flown to Florida a few times, Texas, Hawaii, Ireland. Maybe a smattering of others when I was real young. It's nothing new to me, and it's not something that scares me. As Superman said, "Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel."
Even so, there is a small, back-of-the-mind thought that I believe goes through every single person who steps on a plane's head. This Could Be It. I believe that one hundred percent. I refuse to believe there is anybody (awake) flying at this moment in time who is not thinking that somewhere in their head. It popped up in mind as we took off, landed, experienced turbulence, and ate some peanuts. This Could Be My Last Peanut. Now This One Could Be My Last Peanut. These Two Could Be My Last Two Peanuts. Etc.
It's a very helpless feeling, or thought. There's nothing to be done. You're sitting in a giant, airborne tube, 35,000 feet in the air. Ish. You sit there, waiting for the inevitable deuce to be dropped in the 1 foot by 2 feet bathroom that will find it's way into the recycled air and think, Is the float-ability of my seat cushion really going to matter?
In a car, you are in control, for the most part. A boat? At least it's open air and feels safe. Plus, you have life jackets and are only about a small jump into the water. A train? At least it's on the ground. Flying? No control. Even the most experienced flier must at some point have The Thought pass through.
Security doesn't help matters. Before it was, What if the plane crashes? Now, What if someone has plastique shoes?
It was in this frame of mind that I began my trip to New Mexico.
We arrived at the airport at about 7:00am ET, Nichole and Kelsey dropped me off at BWI. We flew Southwest.
But wait. I have neglected to preface this with the whole reason for New Mexico in the first place. My Dad and I were going to a fly-fishing ranch in New Mexico called Cow Creek Ranch. Fishing, drinking beer, relaxing in the middle of a mountain range with no cellphone signal to speak of. I know. Nice.
We flew Southwest. Upon checking our bags, the first thing we did was head for the gate to see if Tom was there. Tom is the father of one of my friends, Chris. They are also going to the ranch, but Chris lives out in Colorado so he's meeting us in Santa Fe. Also joining us is my friend Dave and his dad, George. We have all known each other since we were very, very young. These are the families we do a Christmas Tree Hunting Trip with every year, as well as a chili-night and present-exchange. So it's a whole Father-Son-Long-Time-Friends-Guy-Fishing-Beer-Trip-Thing. Pretty cool.
We met Tom at the gate, which was nice because he was already first in the A group line. This meant the five of us were going to be the first ones on the plane. Being first-come-first-serve seating, this is a clear advantage and I fought the urge to flex the guns at the other passengers as the wait to board went on.
So Dad and I got some breakfast at one of the food places, and tiredly ate our not-as-delicious-as-we-would-have-liked breakfast sandwiches. Dave and George came through, and we all adjourned to the gate. Tom had already become fast friends with a couple from our area who were also on their way to New Mexico. Apparently, he had also endeared himself to the Gate Guy, for when it came time to load, the Gate Guy told everyone waiting that a bunch of fisherman were boarding to go fly-fishing in New Mexico. Exactly the type of thing people care about when about to board a plane at 8:15am.
Then he told a joke. What do you call a fish with no eye? A fsh.
Some chuckled, some groaned. I stabbed him with the pen knife I snuck through security in my anus, then told the joke to a dozen other people over the course of the trip with a follow up regarding how I first came up with the awesome joke all by myself.
We were all very casual and relaxed clothing-wise. Tom was wearing a New Mexico shirt. You're wearing the shirt of the state you're going to visit? Don't be that guy. I had on a Ravens t-shirt, as I intended on fully representing my hood on the west side of the country.
We sat by the emergency exit, as there was more leg room and we could all bask in the responsibility we had placed upon ourselves in providing a safe exit to all other passengers in the event we improbably survived an unscheduled and problematic landing. The flight attendant explained this to us importantly, and we importantly confirmed that we all were up to the task.
There was no lunch on this flight. We had a stop-over in Austin, TX and El Paso, TX where we had to sit and wait as people got off and others got on. We didn't get off at all, and there was no lunch. Know what we got? A small bag of trail mix, and small bag of cookies, and a small pack of crackers. Oh, and the peanuts. Would a lunch-able be too much to ask for?
On a side note. Then again, this whole thing seems like a lengthy side note. What happened to Sexy Stewardesses? I see movies, so I know they used to exist. You know what we get now? Effeminate men. Men that seem to be on the bubble. Now, I could care less if someone's gay or straight or into hot monkey love. It doesn't matter to me one way or another. But I do know what I'd rather see while stuck in an airborne tube full of floating seat cushions. Sexy Stewardesses.
I got about 3 hours sleep the night before I left. I can't sleep on a plane. It's impossible for me. I don't know why, but I can't sleep on planes, in cars, and I'm assuming the same goes for trains. A boat I could probably do. It's annoying, especially on long flights. So you take the no-sleep thing, multiply it by the 3 or 4 hours to Austin, then sitting there not even moving, then about 1 hour or so to El Paso, then sitting there not even moving, then another 45 minutes to Albuquerque. Fun stuff.
The Albuquerque airport was awesome. Very nice. Not like BWI or Dulles, where everything is kind of sterile and monochrome and plainly functional. This airport had life. It represented it's state. Things were very desert-ish and culturally stylish. There was artwork all over the walls, murals, and it allowed you to get a sense of how things would be just by walking through. Commendable. When we left New Mexico at the end of the trip, it was a little more toned down, but that was mainly because our departing flight left at 6:40am, so we arrived at the airport at 5am. I think things are toned down everywhere at 5am.
When we left at 6:40am, there was a stop in Houston where we had to switch planes and had a 2 hour layover. Apparently I can't sleep on a plane or in an airport. I got more sleep the night before but I was already exhausted from the vacation so that trip was even more fun.
One last thing before I mercifully wrap this up. When we stopped at Austin, some guy got on and sat in the row my Dad was in. There were three seats; my Dad had the window, The Guy sat on the end. The Guy put some of his stuff in the seat between them, the reason I assumed was to get his stuff arranged, then he would clear the seat for another passenger as the flight was pretty full and it was first-come-first-serve, as we both know I mentioned before.
The Guy, however, did not remove his stuff. What's more, every time someone would pass by looking for a seat or a flight attendant would do an overview of the empty seats, he would duck his head down and pretend to be adjusting his shoes or his carry-on bag. The Guy did this at least ten times. I had to physically restrain myself from tapping a flight attendant on the shoulder and alerting them to the unoccupied seat. The only reason I didn't was because my Dad had some room to move with no one next to him, which is always nice. So I bit my tongue. Hard.
My Dad told me later that someone had asked if the seat was open and The Guy kind of mumbled and made a big show of moving his stuff out of the way, so the dude who asked just found another seat.
Hey The Guy! If you by any chance in hell read this, you're a douche! You will be now known not as The Guy, but The Douche.
So The Douche, when we landed in Albuquerque, was one of the first ones out of his seat and heading down the aisle as fast as he could, cutting off other passengers that were just getting up to get their bags. Apparently, The Douche is important. Who knew The Douche was so important? What made me laugh out loud was that he got about 3 rows before being stopped cold and had to wait with the rest of us heathens to debark. Then, when the 5 of us got to baggage claim, there he was! Just walking up! Quickly! Maybe The Douche got lost. As soon as he could, he quickly grabbed his bags and swiftly walked out of the airport, where I can only assume he was hit by a slow-moving truck.
One last thing. I promise. When we got to our rent-a-car, some guy next to us was getting into his rent-a-car. A neon green mustang. I like to think of that guy as The Other Douche.
That was our trip there and back, in a nutshell. Soon to come will be other parts of the trip, which I know you are impatiently not waiting for so I will be sure to try and keep them coming in a timely fashion. And the next time you fly, remember, it's completely normal to think about crashing.
Just counter-balance it with the proud responsibility of sitting in an exit row.
I really don't. I've flown to Florida a few times, Texas, Hawaii, Ireland. Maybe a smattering of others when I was real young. It's nothing new to me, and it's not something that scares me. As Superman said, "Statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel."
Even so, there is a small, back-of-the-mind thought that I believe goes through every single person who steps on a plane's head. This Could Be It. I believe that one hundred percent. I refuse to believe there is anybody (awake) flying at this moment in time who is not thinking that somewhere in their head. It popped up in mind as we took off, landed, experienced turbulence, and ate some peanuts. This Could Be My Last Peanut. Now This One Could Be My Last Peanut. These Two Could Be My Last Two Peanuts. Etc.
It's a very helpless feeling, or thought. There's nothing to be done. You're sitting in a giant, airborne tube, 35,000 feet in the air. Ish. You sit there, waiting for the inevitable deuce to be dropped in the 1 foot by 2 feet bathroom that will find it's way into the recycled air and think, Is the float-ability of my seat cushion really going to matter?In a car, you are in control, for the most part. A boat? At least it's open air and feels safe. Plus, you have life jackets and are only about a small jump into the water. A train? At least it's on the ground. Flying? No control. Even the most experienced flier must at some point have The Thought pass through.
Security doesn't help matters. Before it was, What if the plane crashes? Now, What if someone has plastique shoes?
It was in this frame of mind that I began my trip to New Mexico.
We arrived at the airport at about 7:00am ET, Nichole and Kelsey dropped me off at BWI. We flew Southwest.
But wait. I have neglected to preface this with the whole reason for New Mexico in the first place. My Dad and I were going to a fly-fishing ranch in New Mexico called Cow Creek Ranch. Fishing, drinking beer, relaxing in the middle of a mountain range with no cellphone signal to speak of. I know. Nice.
We flew Southwest. Upon checking our bags, the first thing we did was head for the gate to see if Tom was there. Tom is the father of one of my friends, Chris. They are also going to the ranch, but Chris lives out in Colorado so he's meeting us in Santa Fe. Also joining us is my friend Dave and his dad, George. We have all known each other since we were very, very young. These are the families we do a Christmas Tree Hunting Trip with every year, as well as a chili-night and present-exchange. So it's a whole Father-Son-Long-Time-Friends-Guy-Fishing-Beer-Trip-Thing. Pretty cool.
We met Tom at the gate, which was nice because he was already first in the A group line. This meant the five of us were going to be the first ones on the plane. Being first-come-first-serve seating, this is a clear advantage and I fought the urge to flex the guns at the other passengers as the wait to board went on.
So Dad and I got some breakfast at one of the food places, and tiredly ate our not-as-delicious-as-we-would-have-liked breakfast sandwiches. Dave and George came through, and we all adjourned to the gate. Tom had already become fast friends with a couple from our area who were also on their way to New Mexico. Apparently, he had also endeared himself to the Gate Guy, for when it came time to load, the Gate Guy told everyone waiting that a bunch of fisherman were boarding to go fly-fishing in New Mexico. Exactly the type of thing people care about when about to board a plane at 8:15am.
Then he told a joke. What do you call a fish with no eye? A fsh.
Some chuckled, some groaned. I stabbed him with the pen knife I snuck through security in my anus, then told the joke to a dozen other people over the course of the trip with a follow up regarding how I first came up with the awesome joke all by myself.
We were all very casual and relaxed clothing-wise. Tom was wearing a New Mexico shirt. You're wearing the shirt of the state you're going to visit? Don't be that guy. I had on a Ravens t-shirt, as I intended on fully representing my hood on the west side of the country.
We sat by the emergency exit, as there was more leg room and we could all bask in the responsibility we had placed upon ourselves in providing a safe exit to all other passengers in the event we improbably survived an unscheduled and problematic landing. The flight attendant explained this to us importantly, and we importantly confirmed that we all were up to the task.
There was no lunch on this flight. We had a stop-over in Austin, TX and El Paso, TX where we had to sit and wait as people got off and others got on. We didn't get off at all, and there was no lunch. Know what we got? A small bag of trail mix, and small bag of cookies, and a small pack of crackers. Oh, and the peanuts. Would a lunch-able be too much to ask for?
On a side note. Then again, this whole thing seems like a lengthy side note. What happened to Sexy Stewardesses? I see movies, so I know they used to exist. You know what we get now? Effeminate men. Men that seem to be on the bubble. Now, I could care less if someone's gay or straight or into hot monkey love. It doesn't matter to me one way or another. But I do know what I'd rather see while stuck in an airborne tube full of floating seat cushions. Sexy Stewardesses.
I got about 3 hours sleep the night before I left. I can't sleep on a plane. It's impossible for me. I don't know why, but I can't sleep on planes, in cars, and I'm assuming the same goes for trains. A boat I could probably do. It's annoying, especially on long flights. So you take the no-sleep thing, multiply it by the 3 or 4 hours to Austin, then sitting there not even moving, then about 1 hour or so to El Paso, then sitting there not even moving, then another 45 minutes to Albuquerque. Fun stuff.
The Albuquerque airport was awesome. Very nice. Not like BWI or Dulles, where everything is kind of sterile and monochrome and plainly functional. This airport had life. It represented it's state. Things were very desert-ish and culturally stylish. There was artwork all over the walls, murals, and it allowed you to get a sense of how things would be just by walking through. Commendable. When we left New Mexico at the end of the trip, it was a little more toned down, but that was mainly because our departing flight left at 6:40am, so we arrived at the airport at 5am. I think things are toned down everywhere at 5am.
When we left at 6:40am, there was a stop in Houston where we had to switch planes and had a 2 hour layover. Apparently I can't sleep on a plane or in an airport. I got more sleep the night before but I was already exhausted from the vacation so that trip was even more fun.
One last thing before I mercifully wrap this up. When we stopped at Austin, some guy got on and sat in the row my Dad was in. There were three seats; my Dad had the window, The Guy sat on the end. The Guy put some of his stuff in the seat between them, the reason I assumed was to get his stuff arranged, then he would clear the seat for another passenger as the flight was pretty full and it was first-come-first-serve, as we both know I mentioned before.
The Guy, however, did not remove his stuff. What's more, every time someone would pass by looking for a seat or a flight attendant would do an overview of the empty seats, he would duck his head down and pretend to be adjusting his shoes or his carry-on bag. The Guy did this at least ten times. I had to physically restrain myself from tapping a flight attendant on the shoulder and alerting them to the unoccupied seat. The only reason I didn't was because my Dad had some room to move with no one next to him, which is always nice. So I bit my tongue. Hard.
My Dad told me later that someone had asked if the seat was open and The Guy kind of mumbled and made a big show of moving his stuff out of the way, so the dude who asked just found another seat.
Hey The Guy! If you by any chance in hell read this, you're a douche! You will be now known not as The Guy, but The Douche.
So The Douche, when we landed in Albuquerque, was one of the first ones out of his seat and heading down the aisle as fast as he could, cutting off other passengers that were just getting up to get their bags. Apparently, The Douche is important. Who knew The Douche was so important? What made me laugh out loud was that he got about 3 rows before being stopped cold and had to wait with the rest of us heathens to debark. Then, when the 5 of us got to baggage claim, there he was! Just walking up! Quickly! Maybe The Douche got lost. As soon as he could, he quickly grabbed his bags and swiftly walked out of the airport, where I can only assume he was hit by a slow-moving truck.
One last thing. I promise. When we got to our rent-a-car, some guy next to us was getting into his rent-a-car. A neon green mustang. I like to think of that guy as The Other Douche.
That was our trip there and back, in a nutshell. Soon to come will be other parts of the trip, which I know you are impatiently not waiting for so I will be sure to try and keep them coming in a timely fashion. And the next time you fly, remember, it's completely normal to think about crashing.
Just counter-balance it with the proud responsibility of sitting in an exit row.
Comments