Love the destination, hate the journey.

I’ve come to the conclusion that airports are simultaneously one of the happiest places on earth and the most depressing. They are happy when they’re the site of a reunion, like a soldier seeing his kid for the first time or grandparents hugging their grandkids. Then there are my experiences.

Number one- parking is always a bitch. Please let me catch a shuttle and hike 2 miles to kick off the trip, thanks. Then you have the line to check in. Then there’s security where everyone’s head falls off and people forget they’re human. (“Ohh.. you mean I can’t take my water bottle on the plane? Belts have metal on them? What do you mean I have to take my shoes off?”) Then take yet another shuttle to get to your gate. By the time you get there you’re winded and hate everyone. Happy travels!

There’s also the inevitable chick wearing skinny jeans, stilettos, and hoop earrings. AT THE AIRPORT. This is how I feel about that:


What gets me is that at the gate everyone starts crowding like vultures around a kill, just inching in front of the person next to them. WE’RE ALL GETTING ON THIS FLYING METAL DEATH TRAP, PEOPLE. Then people stand in the aisle of the plane putting their bag in the overhead bin for about 10 minutes while everyone behind them sighs loudly. Then, once everyone’s seated, you wait another half hour to take off. At this point I’m ready to stab someone for breathing too loudly. And then you get hours and hours of cramped seating, fat people, crying babies, weird smells, and ear popping. You would think that by now we could have made this experience a little more pleasant.

BUT once you get to where you’re going- it’s all worth it. It’s nice to vent once in a while.


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