The Sunshine State

The guy in the seat ahead of me coughed loudly and then sneezed, causing his chair to jerk wildly into my own space. The visceral hatred seething off of me probably could have melted steel, but I figured I would spare his life because I didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of murdering someone just because they sneezed and their airline chair knocked into my tray in my own little cramped space on the plane. I took a deep breath and thought about happier, warmer places that I would be landing into in just a few short hours.

Going to Florida is one of the highlights of my childhood. My family has multiple branches growing in the sunshine state, and as a result Mom, Dad, Sister and I (in several different combinations of those four people) would trek down to the Sub-tropical Not-Really-Sure-It-Can-Be-Called-The-South State to visit family and escape the New York Blah’s that can attack in the winter (or hell, even the summer for that matter).
The amazing thing about getting out of New York was getting out. I felt like the tide of people was, at any minute, about to wash me away into a nasty, seething asshole of a New Yorker that tourists only tell tales of in hushed whispers around a dinner table of trusted individuals. I took the MTA to get to LaGuardia Airport. I live in Queens. It only makes sense to take the train and the bus, it’s really not a long journey. That is: unless the entire city decides that they need to cram on to the same train car, the same bus and then the same damn security line.
After arriving at the airport I was greeted with the line from Hell. I am not exaggerating when I say that there must have easily been about 200 people ahead of me. My asshole New Yorker reared her ugly head. “Oh, this is greeeeeat. I LOVE waiting on lines!” I went to an agent holding and directing the flow of cattle-I mean people- and asked in my most honeyed voice where the end of the line started. The dead-eyed airline employee who, long ago stopped seeing people- only bags of human effluence, pointed and mumbled something completely incoherent and useless. I followed her gesticulation and, off on the horizon, saw the line’s beginning. Balls.
It always amazes me that there is a place, in America, where one has to undress, get prodded, poked and then berated all for the pleasure of coughing up hundreds of dollars to fly on a cramped Aluminum vessel which will drop you off in another part of the planet, were potentially more people will prod, poke and inspect you. Flying sucks. Travel is awesome. So, What can I do? I put on my Evil New Yorker face and hope no one tries to screw with me any more than anyone else.
I guess I understand why New Yorkers have a reputation for being Jerks. We have the airline’s craziness ALL THE TIME, everywhere. New York City is like one big Airline system. What a pleasure to leave for a few days. Because, once I get back, it won’t seem so bad. I really do love that city, and the people who live there, ultimately. But, for the next few days Florida will be my home away from home. Whew!

January 21, 2012 at 12:46 pm by Natalie Allen