Come Fly With Me: How To Survive Your Next Flight

Last week I headed to Boise, Idaho to talk about coupons and eat cookies.  This was a totally different trip than last months plane ride to Virginia to attend a pie party.  Totally. Different.

As usual, I snapped a quick photo on my phone of my parking space.  If you don’t do this… you should.  It sure beats wandering around several floors of the parking garage a Seatac airport mumbling… “Where did I park… WHERE DID I PARK?” to Romanian tourists.

While travelling alone, I park in the ridiculously overpriced parking garage.  The fee is like $22 or $24 for 24 hours.  CRAZY!  But, because I don’t have my personal bodyguard (HH) travelling with me, I don’t feel safe parking over at the $11 park and ride lot.  Sometimes the drivers over there are weird… Plus they want a tip. I really have a hard time giving someone $2 for dropping me off at the airport when

1. I have already paid my parking fee.
2. I don’t need help with my luggage.
3. It is their job to drive me the 1 mile distance to the airport.

I don’t think I am cheap (the HH does).  I think I am being rational.

Moving on…

My seat assignment had me sitting next to Biker Guy with a Grudge.  And, in true Mavis fashion, once the cabin doors were locked, I made no apologies and bolted for an empty row.  Sitting next to undesirable cabin mates scare me.

1. They are creepy.
2. They tend to smell (body order, liquor, cigarettes… you name it).
3. They typically want to ask questions like… What is your name? Where are you from? What do you do for a living? Do you have any kids? What are your hobbies? (Seriously… why do they need to know this? Why do they care? What are they going to do with the information?  Didn’t their mother tell them not to talk to strangers or to give out their personal information when they were younger?)

Anyway, once I was settled I grabbed the latest copy of the Alaska Airlines in flight magazine.

The first ad that caught my eye was for a hotel.  At first I thought maybe this particular hotel chain was for carnie folk… allowing tigers to stay in hotel rooms and such.  Then after staring at it a while longer, I came to the conclusion that the advertising company promoting this magazine must be channeling Joan Collins from the 1980’s show Dynasty.  Either that or Sigfried & Roy.

I believe this hotel company is promoting something a little kinky too… I just can’t put my finger on it.  I mean really, how many men out there paint woman’s toenails like the guy portrayed here?  I don’t even like walking around barefooted let alone want the HH to touch my feet.  Blech…  No thanks, I don’t want to stay at that hotel either.

Now these are nice… too bad I don’t go to rodeos.  Or wear bagazillion dollar boots.

Take a look at this company… They want to do your grocery shopping for you.  Dude.  I think I will always be able to find the time to bake my daughter a birthday cake rather than have your granola eating, tree hugging arse buy her a giant bagel and try to pawn it off as a cake.

And if those ads were not bad enough… Who the heck are these people?  I have been to Boise four times in as many months and have never laid eyes on these merry makers.  Who are they? And why are they dancing in someones front yard?

Luckily, by the time I had read my magazine, drank complimentary orange juice and ingested my 3.2 peanuts it was time to land.  I made it.  I had survived another flight.  I didn’t have to sit by anyone weird, or that smelled and nobody talked to me.

Now that’s my kind of flight!

Oh, and one last thing.

Attention 55-year-old males.  Stop wearing your kids clothing.  Skater shoes and dark acid washed jeans don’t look good on you.  They make you look like you are trying to hard.  Which you are.  Be a man.  Wear man clothes.

The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Travel