While I've never run into the horror of canceled flights or being stuck in an airport for any extended time, I have grown to hate airplane travel. It sort of reached its low point for me a few weeks before 9/11 when my buddies and I flew to Vegas for a long weekend.
The flight was packed and there was a large family spread all around the plane. No sooner had we taken off when they started unpacking the coolers of food they'd brought with them and passing around foil wrapped packets, filling the plane with the smell of the greasy, fried food they'd prepared. That was the day I realized that air travel was one step – one expensive step – above taking the bus.
Subsequent trips have done little to change this opinion and now we have the added pleasure of long lines at security checkpoints, pushy security types, bag searches, the spinning wheel of "Which Rule is Being Enforced This Week" and more.
To top things off, the sickest I've ever been was a couple years ago when Chris and I flew to Boston for the weekend. Within 36 hours of boarding the plane we were both violently ill with the nastiest bug I've ever experienced.
Is it any wonder we're driving to Kentucky and Oklahoma this week rather than put our daughter – and ourselves – through the hell of air travel?
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