photo courtesy of Invisible Hour
As if flying wasn't traumatizing enough.
I've flown a lot in my 36 years. By my last count, I have logged over 300,000 miles. I forgot how many miles I've spent over the years on trips, so the estimate may even be a bit low - 300,000 are the miles I know I've flown. Over all those flights, everything from puddle jumpers, to long haul commercial flights, even to a few private jets; I've come to realize something. Flying is not fun. When I was a kid, I loved the idea of getting on an airplane and going somewhere new. Over the years though, I've changed that thought to nothing but bad. I hate flying. I'm grumpy, miserable, and in no mood just at the thought of having to go to the airport. Being a seasoned traveler, I know all the routines - I can zip through security in no time at all, know where to locate the best coffee spots in just about any airport, and have been through the custom's search more times than I can count. I know how to deal with airports. I consider myself an expert on the subject. Whether its LAX or London Heathrow, Moscow's Domodedovo or Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport; I've rushed through them all.
Recently, I've seen more and more news reports on an alarming idea. Karaoke. In the airport. Not just in a bar in the airport. That I can avoid. Nope, karaoke in the middle of the airport for all to see. I like to think that those people singing are having a good time, but the fact is when I'm in an airport, I want to hear one thing and one thing only..."Flight 232 now boarding at Gate 62." Sure maybe a little soft music in the bars and restaurants or perhaps some Christmas songs around the holidays over the main terminals speakers, but some happy person singing karaoke when I'm in a miserable state because the airline just told me that my bag isn't on my connecting flight but instead on its way to Reykjavík, Iceland instead or that they've oversold my flight and the next flight isn't until tomorrow, but they might be able to put me up in a hotel? Not a good solution. Not at all.
So George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas, I say to you, "Please, cut out that racket." I'm begging. We're practically neighbors, please stop it before it spreads to our little safe haven of flying. Perhaps you could instead concentrate your efforts elsewhere (running on time, not losing my bags, not canceling my flight - all things which you have personally done to me). Please.