Nope. I can’t take it anymore. Even though plane travel is by far the safest and quickest mode of transportation, I’d rather walk or even crawl than get in a giant aluminum tube again filled with possibly diseased, nasty strangers. I don’t like driving to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, figuring out where is the right parking lot and then trying to remember my parking space. I hate putting that mask over my face when I walk through the airport doors and not being able to understand what the ticket agents and security personnel are saying to me in their strange, muffled language behind their masks.
I’m uncomfortable standing in a long line, looking at the back of the heads of thousands of fellow travelers all waiting to be screened through security checkpoints. And I really hate it when they tell me to take off my shoes and worry there might be a hole I missed that morning in my cleanest pair of dirty socks. And then I must go through putting my shoes back on again over my now even-more-dirty socks. Usually, one of my shoestrings breaks because I’m so frustrated, I pull on them too hard. Besides my feet hurt after all that standing in line.
After all those struggles, it’s then time to find the right train to the gate. Hopefully, I won’t screw that up, so I’ll be there on time for all the annoying pre-board announcements. After finding the right location to catch the right train and keeping my carry-on luggage tightly squeezed against me, I grip the cold metal bar which I hope has been sanitized, and sway dizzily as we race down the rails to yet even more hell.
