Going to Moline didn’t sound half bad last week. Easy travel, semi-interesting meeting, free food, time away from the office. Funny how ‘sound’ would be so key. For my part, I stayed in the office Wednesday afternoon as long as my bored attention span would allow and then I left for the airport. Being early I decided to surprise a cool chick with Goodberry’s (somewhat near the airport) but it turned out the one day she didn’t leave on time (early) was then.

Well, no big deal, I’ll just go to airport, check through and read. Or perhaps I’ll sit in a line that extended almost outside the building because they ran out of those rope off things, while getting sores on my ass from my luggage (since I can’t stand, I have to sit on my suitcase, which ain’t pretty). This was truly horrible, but since I really did have no place to go, I was complacent about the whole thing.

It was kind of nice to share the joys of parenthood while all of us in line watched little ‘Billy’ grow up - from the approximate age of 6 months too graduating high school from ‘home schooling’ (they districted in the airport as his permanent residence simply based on time there). Too bad little Billy never met any women and only learned religion from the aging hairy Christnas that frequented the airport, but it could’ve been worse. Eventually we got on a plane (one I think they started building the same time I got to the airport).

So of course I get on the plane last. Which guarantees two things: 1) I’ll get ‘spot’ checked, 2) I’ll get a bad seat. I did of course get checked. I can’t understand a word this man is saying. First, because he’s not speaking English. Second, because he’s not speaking clearly. Third because he’s not actually using full sentences. Now while that wand felt good, I don’t understand why he kept checking there. More surprising was that the wand kept beeping at my shoes, like 5 times, and he never said anything or had me take my shoes off. Now I feel safe (and violated).

As for bad seating, I had obviously done something horrible in a previous life. Of course there are always children on flights and of course they’ll want to cry or be fussy. Not that any of that is pleasant or an excuse, but you know it’s going to happen. But when you sit down between the window and a small child and its mother flatly says, “Let me apologize up front for your traveling partner”, you know you should just jump out that tiny little window right then.