I hate flying

Oops... I know it's been a while since I've posted. Everyone has probably stopped following my blog by now. Unfortunately, taking finals and putting out the last editions of the paper and moving from my apartment and getting ready for New York turned out to be a full time job for the last couple of weeks. But now I'm in New York City! I got in yesterday, after the longest red eye flight I've ever taken. I left my house at 9:00 p.m. Oregon time, and landed in New York at 2:30 p.m. NY time so jet lagged I could barely see straight. I would have gotten there sooner, but my flight got delayed. I have the worst luck with flights. I don't know why I don't just automatically schedule my flights a couple of hours early, because anywhere I'm flying to, there's guaranteed to be a blizzard or some other sort of inclement weather. So while I was stuck in the Houston airport for an extra four and a half hours, I amused myself with my standard airport pastime of watching people talk to the gate agents and wondering how they were intelligent enough to manage to book a flight in the first place. This may sound mean, but if you spent the number of days I did stranded in the Salt Lake airport two Christmases ago, you would understand. This time I saw a guy who had to have the meaning of the word "delayed" explained to him three or four times before he comprehended that the plane wasn't taking off for at least another hour due to weather problems. And then he said "Can't you just call them and tell them that it's really important for me to get there on time?" I also cannot tell you how many people I have seen throw a fit when they get to the gate ten or fifteen minutes after takeoff and realized the pilot has not held the plane for them. These people were serious. They actually thought that instead of closing the jetway and taxiing toward the runway ten minutes before takeoff, the pilot and all hundred and some passengers were still sitting there saying "Well, gee, I really hope Mr. and Mrs. Smith get here soon." And yet, their flight always leaves on time, while I get there two hours early and then get delayed another hour or two. Where's the justice in that? Waiting to get on the plane isn't really all that exciting, and then I finally get to board and I think "Woohoo! No more sitting and being bored.... oh wait, my flight is four hours long." And then I try to get a good night's sleep while sitting upright in my chair next to a complete stranger. Before I got old enough to start flying, I used to think it would be so exciting...