Day eighty three: I hate to fly

Last night my mom called and demanded that I be at the airport two hours early for my domestic flight from Winnipeg to Vancouver. This means she wanted me to be at the Winnipeg James Armstrong Richardson International Airport at five a.m. to fly out at seven bells. 

Clearly I told her I’d be there at that time but in reality I tossed some dirty laundry in a duffle bag, snagged my laptop and called at cab to come get me at 5:30. The cab ride took longer than it did to check my bags  -- it took the Tim Hortons workers more time to toast my cheese bagel than it did for me to go through security.

Better safe than sorry I suppose.

I hate to fly. I know the miracle of flight is nothing to scoff at but I can’t stress enough how much I hate to fly. I go for the aisle seat because I like to be able to control when I can get up and go to the bathroom. I don’t want to climb over someone in the event I need to use the most uncomfortable washroom in existence. Especially when their tray is down, forget about it!

I dread having to sit beside a stranger. I never get to sit beside the hunky dreamboat I saw in the terminal, it’s always the least desirable person who smells like a dirty gym sock, or worse, a baby. I already get pseudo nauseous from the re-circulated airplane air as it is; I loathe the idea of breathing in vile body odour on top of it.

At Christmas time, a baby or two on board is bound to happen. These poor babies, who are incapable of understanding air pressure, probably think their heads are going to explode. I’m 26 years old and sometimes I think my head is going to explode on the airplane. I don’t pretend to know the science of flight.

So does it annoy me when I’m trying to take a snooze on my 7 am flight to the coast that some little tyke is wailing like a banshee – a baby banshee even? Yes, of course it bothers me. But I get it. It’s not their fault. It’s their parents’ fault for bringing them on a plane in the first place. There should be a 12 and over policy on airplanes. Not only is it more pleasant for the other passengers but it’s also a safety precaution. Babies and small children are notorious for bringing contraband on airplanes. If I can’t bring a bottle of water through security, why should they be able to bring a bottle?

Don’t even get me started on Westjet’s new pay-per-view movie policy. $7 for an in-flight movie?! Are you kidding me Westjet? Talk about ridiculous. 

The thought of Christmas with the fam is the only thing that kept me going.