It occurred to me on my 17 hour trek to Europe that traveling is about the closest thing to war I will ever encounter. Granted it's no Little Big Horn, Desert Storm, or Jessica Simpon's fight to stay skinny, but it's momentous nonetheless . Besides just trying to get to your destination, there are monumental battles occurring at every twist and turn:
Security
Short of dropping trou and doing the turn and cough, you're pretty much completely exposed to Num-nuts and his friends working the security check-point. But that aside, I always feel like I'm on a time-trial to get de-accessorized, remove my shoes, and make sure I remove my laptop and liquids from my bags. I push my 2 carry-on bags, 3 tubs of stuff, and my jacket through the X-ray machine and line up to walk through the metal detector. BEEP! Crap, time penalty. Forgot to remove my belt. Now I'm getting the evil-eye from Mr. Executive Platinum who's figured out a way to make it 6 days with 1 carry-on bag and a pack of gum. The second lap yields a better result and now it's a race to collect my 4 carry-on bags, 6 tubs of stuff, and 2 jackets (yes, everything doubles in the X-Ray machine) . . . . . . .And we've crossed into enemy territory. 1 min, 33 secs. Not bad.
@ the Gate
Here's where the competition really heats up. The enjoyment or general displeasure of your trip rests on how you position yourself. Do you hit the enemy straight on and just set up camp right at the entrance of the gate? Mr. Executive Platinum has and with good reason. He just got a free upgrade so while you're boarding and walking to the back, he'll be the one already seated, reading his newspaper, glancing up with a "ha, ha, suckers!" look on his face, all while Billy, the gay stewardess - pardon me, flight attendant - offers him OJ or champagne in a plastic cup. Or do you flank the rest of the passengers and either grab a seat near the gate or stand in the general vicinity of the gate ready to pounce when that first boarding announcement is called?
And when First Class and Business Class boarding is called, half the people waiting line up. Did I miss the announcement for free upgrades? Nope, it's just the battle heating up. After all, there's overhead compartment space at stake. In London this time, I actually thought a 70 year-old, grey-haired lady was going to shiv the 19 year-old couple that cut half the line. The look in her eye was the same look hat Dorothy had when Blanche got flirty with Stan. I know, right? G.G. was the best!
Aboard the Plane
Once you enter, you're greeted, walk past Mr. E.P. - yep, there's that look - find your seat and, if you're lucky and have strategized wisely, you find a spot for your carry on. Hopefully you're the first to the that row so you can now move on to the Battle of Armrest.
Now, with some perseverance and determination, here's where you can ensure that you will get 18" of seating room instead of 16". The key is to stake the claim early and set a strong front. Keep your arm or elbow firmly placed on that arm rest. Someone needs to get past you? Make 'em climb. Someone needs help getting their bag into the overhead compartment? Avoid eye contact. Stand strong . . .wait for it. . . . hold. . . . .hooooold. . . .THERE IT IS! The person next to you attempted a take-over of your armrest, but they were met with resistance. Upon feeling that you've already staked claim to the real estate, chances are you'll finally be able to make use of that arm again, but only in time and only for short intervals. Of course, there's always unexpected forces. My most recent battle resulted in a loss. I was out-done by back fat. I got lazy. She got comfortable. I was no match for the spill over that ensued. We almost lost some good men that day (namely my left arm), but managed to fall back and regroup.
The Flight
You've already fought some big battles. There's a little spat here and there during the flight - the look-back you have to give when little Timmy is kicking your seat; the look-away when Betty on the opposite side of the isle decides to stand up and take a stretch unknowingly going butt-to-face with you; or the uncomfortably long look-to-the-side you have to pull when homeboy across the isle finds what you're doing on your laptop completely enthralling. It's called Yo Gabba, Gabba, dude. Get your own! Other than that, it's just the personal battle of butt-cheek numbness (not in a gay way).
Deplaning
The battle's almost won. You've managed to avoid walking into the lavatory moments after your armrest enemy drops a deuce and re-supply your energy for the last stand. You wait for the signal while the captain says something in airplane code . . .DING! And as if everyone had just BINGO'd, the aisle people spring from their seats.
mr. overly competitive - BINGO; guy stuck in the middle seat - BI
The race is on to get the overhead compartments open and your stuff removed. There's always that one guy who thinks he's more important than everyone else and pushes his way up 2 or 3 rows before it gets completely blocked up. And now we wait . . . and wait. But once you step foot onto that jetbridge (or LiTTYTWaT... Little Tunnel Thingy You Take a Walk Through) the race is on. Why? I don't think anyone knows. Most people have 2-3 hour layovers or have reached their final destinations. Yet we all become Usain Bolt . . . or maybe his fat cousin. And it never fails that when you get to baggage claim, you wait some more.
So, how is the war won? The only real satisfaction to this epic battle is if your bag comes out first. Between you and me, I think they always send out dummy bags first just to keep you waiting in anticipation. You never see anyone pick up those bags - they just go round and round and round. I'm just saying. . . . think about it. I tell you this because I love you.
And so, the war rages on . . . . . .
I win.
mr. overly competitive
