Last week was not a stellar week in the commercial aviation world.
I’m sure you read about the Asiana plane crash in San Francisco where two people died and scores of others injured. It’s a miracle that more people didn’t die, but this scenario and highly grotesque others are what I think about every time I get on a god damn plane.
The last time I flew, I pulled several muscles in my lower back due to anxiety. I talked the ear off of a nice, young Jewish man (we’re friends on Facebook now). I also drank $30 worth of booze, which sounds like a lot, but airport booze is the equivalent of spiking a child’s juice box.
Lately, even thinking about getting on a plane sends me into a Rainman-esque dance of slapping my forehead while rocking in a ball on the bed, so that is why, when Geoff asked me to travel to Tucson with him recently, I said yes, but only if I could take the mother-f’ing train.
So, that’s what I did. I took the absolute slowest form of travel you can (more…)