In the unlikely event the cabin loses pressure...

I used to think that travelling under any circumstances was the life that I wanted to lead. I thought the idea of jetsetting was great and I saw myself as some kind of Jackie Onassis, taking to sky and sea, in a whirlwind of fine dining, waking up in different time zones every single day, seeing the world ... you know what I mean. In the beginning it was every bit that. Even zipping around the airport with my neatly packed bag, leaving all those unkempt vacationers with screaming children in a cloud of my young, single, duty-free perfume, gave me a little thrill.

I am not thinking in these terms anymore.

Fast forward to right now. I am sitting in a hotel room in the center of London, about 3 blocks away from Harrods. I passed Buckingham Palace in a black cab to get here and I barely looked out the window. Why? Because I was here on Friday!!! My entire weekend sucked because as soon as I got back from my trip on Friday night at 11:30 pm, I had to book another one to travel here at 5 am this morning (and today's meeting was last minute so I didn't stay because I didn't have clothes, I need to see Fergus, etc.) So I slept almost all day Saturday from the exhaustion of waking up at 5 on Friday and working an 18 hour day. Not to mention the hell that is a post 9/11 airport. Saturday was gone, except for a few pints at the local. I spent a couple of hours booking this trip on Sunday and getting ready for the meeting today.

Jet-setting my ass.

All the glamour is totally gone out of it. Firstly, you have to get to the airport a ridiculous time before check in. 3 hours before international flights. They can kiss my ass. It is all a big scam, they just don't want to be bothered with more than 10 people at a time and I personally think they must get a commission for the amount of junk that bored people waiting for their flight buy in duty free. On my way back from Boston to Dublin, I bought 2 pairs of sunglasses (2 for $20), a bag of raisinettes, 2 bottles of water and 1 magazine. It cost me $82.34.

But I think I have this check in thing all timed down to the second now, especially for these once a week Dublin to London trips, although sometimes the aviation gods are not good to me and I end up watching my flight board and I am not allowed to check in because I am 3 minutes over the time it says in the fine print on my ticket. No luggage, nothing but "sorry, we've closed the flight". The bastards. Then they charge me full whack to get on the next flight.

Post 9/11, gave the aviation industry the right to treat anyone who paid good money for a ride on a plane like pond scum. I am all for keeping the planes safe, I would be the first one to demand it, but do they have to be so nasty? And when the metal detector goes off because of foil wrapper on your chewing gum, what made them think that I want to be patted down by a woman who looks like her nickname is "Butch". I would rather the guy do it. If I am going to feel violated (which I am), I would rather be violated in a hetro exchange.

Flight attendants, or as I like to call them, Sky Waitresses, are mean and nasty and take great pride in telling you that you can't use the bathroom because the captain has switched on the fasten seatbelt light. Why can't they give you the whole soda? Why are the pretzels always a brand you have never heard of and/or past the expiration date? Why do they feel the need to bring 2 tons worth of cigarettes and makeup onto every flight just in case you feel the need to buy 2 tons worth of cigarettes and makeup before they potentially become yet another item that can become a dangerous weapon if we lose altitude? These skinny bitches with their bad skin overly done eye makeup are not going to be instrumental in my living or dying in case of a water landing, so why do they pretend? Why? Why? Why?

So back to me, sitting on a bed that is too hard, in my hotel room, near Harrods. I am too tired to do anything but get something to eat, alone, in the hotel restaurant. I took a newspaper to read during dinner (hard manage paper and use a knife and fork) but the lights were "mood enhancing" which meant, there weren't any except for a single candle on each table. I ended up lighting my paper on fire with the candle (by accident!) and dosing it with my glass of water. The Spanish waiter rushes over to help me not burn down the hotel and flurry ensues. More napkins are brought and he starts apologising like he was the one that set the paper on fire. The only time I like my ass being kissed is when I demand it! Otherwise I hate it and it makes me feel isolated, like I can't have real contact with anyone because they have been programmed to "manage my hospitality experience" or some such shite like this. Crap. I retired to my room. I had to call the front desk to ask how to turn on my TV. The Russian girl that answered the phone said "are you the girl who set fire to the dining room?" Well, no, she didn't, but she may as well have because now I have to sneak around the place to avoid them being extra nice to me. I think they think I am a psycho.

They may be right.