Why travel in America sucks

So, I have to admit that I shouldn't kvetch much here, as I'm not PAYING for any of this vacation. That being said, this trip through National Airport (it will NEVER be Reagan to me) has left me exhausted, cranky, and well, ready for a good kvetch.

Normally National is a fairly painless experience for me-it usually has decent TSA staffing, efficient lines, and is actually not that busy at the hours I'm flying. This time, however, we were flying the dreaded US Air. We arrived at the airport 2 hours in advance of our flight-usually more than enough time for a domestic flight. Upon arrived, we see a sea of teeming humanity, all schlepping multiple pieces of luggage. Not a promising sign. Walking into the airport, we glance to our left, towards the check-in kiosks. Lines stretching back down to the escalators. After investigation, we place ourselves in the shorter line, the one to talk to the actual agents. We had "Codeshare" tickets-my parents had booked through United, but we were flying US Air as United had no flights to Fort Meyer, apparently. Therefore, no kiosk to check in for us.

We began the interminable wait, and as we're kvetching about the wait, and worrying about making our impending flight, a short, rotund little lady comes & asks us if we're checking in. Of, course, we tell Tweedledee. She proceeds to tell us to vacate the short line & get into the line with no end, in the land that time forgot, that we need the self-check in. My mother snaps at her that we have a Codeshare, to which Tweedledum replies "I've never heard of that, get out of this line!" My parents, being who they are, flat out refuse, pointing out that the line that time forgot is A: not moving, and B: like 200 people longer. Again, the trogolodyte yells at us to move. We do not, of course, for we'd lose our precious place in line. After what seems like an hour, we near the front of our line, where my father runs into a woman from work, who waited for an hour in the other line, only to be told she was in the wrong one. And, this is the best part-she had to go to the END of our line, was not allowed to go to the front, her long wait had been for naught.

At this point, the line stops moving as US Retardair has decided to start line jumping people from other lines into ours, with no explanation. My father makes an attempt at the open magic self-check kiosk without any luck....which I know may be due to his hatred of the machines. Oh, the computers, they irritate him to no end. As we're standing in line, watching the goons pull people from other queues into ours, and getting screamed at for encroaching on their space (mainly to block line jumpers), I make a last, feeble attempt at the self-check in. Success! We're through.

With barely enough time to make it to our flight before the lame 30 minute rule where you go through "special" security (read: practically a cavity search). We sprint down the airport (well, mom & I run, Pokey McSlowsun ambles behind us) & get into the lines. I start stripping down-shoes, off. belt, off. laptop out. Wii....hmm, leave that in the case. The Wii makes it through with no issue, though it is nothing but wires & microchips. My suitcase, full of foundation garments and like 3 shirts, well that apparently is full of terrorist contraband & gets searched. Why? because I have a tiny, quart sized bag with contact lens solution, a tiny thing of shampoo & TOOTHPASTE. The TSA lady pulls out my contraband, eyes it suspisciously, and hands it back to me. That's it. I'm clear. Of course, my mother had taken this opportunity to loudly annouce that this was my first time flying, like I'm some kind of back country rube.

Yeah, people who don't fly clearly would have been traveling with a game system, laptop, properly packed supplies & clothes in ziploc bags for an easy TSA examination. The TSA woman says, as she hands me my HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS shampoo, "For a first time flyer, you sure did a good packing job". Great, they all think I'm some savant flyer now. Excellent.

Of course, due to my horribly long wait, I have had but one tiny cup of coffee since my awakening at 4 AM, and am growing cranky. But no, my longing glances at the coffee kiosks are met with disdain. No coffee for me, it's time to board.

Anyone who's flown recently knows that rich people can board first-it's not done by rows any longer. All of us have zones to board in. My dad is zone 1, but for some reason I am 7. Yes, 7. Also known as "Zone LAST". I have a suitcase with a laptop in it, and a carrying case with a Wii. Either suitcase gets checked, and I will lose something of value. Luckily, though I had to wait to board with the other peasants, there was still room in the overhead to force my suitcase into, so I was safe. Just this once.

As I settle in, my head spinning from lack of coffee, I wonder why we're festering on the tarmac. Oh yes, that's right, NO PLANE EVER LEAVES ON TIME. EVER. After a 20 minute wait where the last 2 people finally board, we take off. And wait for beverage service. And wait. And wait. When I've finally given up hope, and have taken to reading Sky Mall to avoid gouging my own eyes out from boredom, the glorious beverage cart comes along. And offers me my ambrosia, delicious caffeine. In the form of THE MOST DISGUSTING COFFEE IN ALL THE LAND. I swear, it's worse than that Flavia crap in my office (blog post impending). And it has floaties in it. I hope to god they're just grounds, and not, say, roach parts (yeah, had that happen to me once, too). The coffee is burnt, full of floaties, and grody to the max, but it's all I'll get on this two hour flight from HELL. Full of crying babies, and NO ROOM AT ALL. My mom & I kept elbowing each other as we tried to consume our swill. Fabulous.

Finally, the flight ends as I attempt to avoid regurgitating my coffee, for AIRSICKNESS, and turbulence, and I have a window seat & can see them turning the plane every which way BUT up. We land, and go running down to the rental car, to meet my brother & sister-in-law, who have flown in from Tokyo.

We gather up our monstrous amounts of luggage, and attempt to fit it into the rental car, a land yacht of a car-a Navigator. After some luggage Tetris, we fold ourselves into the car (me in the jumpseat in the back, for lo, I am the shortest one. And the A/C isn't working. I rapidly become a screechy mess, and demand the opening of a window before I HURL ALL OVER THE BACK OF THIS CAR RIGHT NOW. Which of course, results in the wrath of Fred (my father), who is now becoming irate & rapidly pushing every button on the A/C panel, turning the heat on my mom's zone of the car. My brother attempts to step in & work the technology for dad, but he is having NONE OF IT. and won't pull over, and we're all going to DIE RIGHT HERE IN THE AIRPORT PARKING LOT. Finally, Matt unbuckles, forces his way up front, and fixes the A/C. And all is well. For now....