I get no kick in a plane

I read somewhere that the excitement of traveling overseas is not generated by bus loads of well-wishers but by the people doing the departing.

That means I’m one of those habitual crowd-drawers who had provided excitement or amusement in the airport, right in that area past the check-in counter and before the airport tax booth. Where are the passports, the tickets, the carry-all bag, the boarding pass? My prescription glasses too? Don’t tell me I left them in the other suitcase? Carefully labeled and zip-locked bags are torn apart with the passion of a security officer looking for prohibited drugs. Only when the missing objects turn up while the last call for clearing immigration is drowning conversation do I realize that an airport departure is not very exciting after all.

My horror begins the moment I leave the house. My car turns a bend and I see ahead of me 80 speeding cars loaded with departing passengers taking the same route, in the same hour and with the same traffic strategy in mind.

I practise my breath-in, breath-out exercises hoping that this can douse off the surging anxiety that’s creeping up my throat. Luckily, I made enough allowance to figure out that even if I practise maximum courtesy and tolerance for these speeding 80 Le Mans-frustrated cars squeezing me out of my space, I will still have enough time to reach the airport before the gates close on me.

With that done, some people also told me that they encounter the unknown when they arrive at the airport. Whoa! You can stop there because I don’t have to go far to know that this is precisely how one can describe the Twilight Zone atmosphere that our very own NAIA has been reputed to give every departing passenger.

You can see it in the facial expressions of guards, administrative and security personnel, kibitzers and other handlers in the airport. Nobody looks up and no one smiles (except the porters). The departing passengers are busy "corralling" their luggage into one trolley while the airport personnel just wants to shoo away (or chop) as many heads in the airport as possible. If you encounter the phantom, the joker and the catwoman inside the building, you can relax because they are part of the territory.

We say that traveling is not anymore confined to the jetsetters because we are a country of overseas workers and taking a plane ride is almost like commuting from the place of habitation to the place of work. Have we bridged the gap? Not quite.

Look again and you will see it in the expressions of quiet self-satisfaction on the faces checking in at Business Class (where there’s hardly any queue) or First Class (where there’s none at all). Like Madame Pompadour(s) before the Fall of Bastille, these aristocrats are secure in the prospect of more food, attention and best of all, more space. (It has puzzled me to no end what formula they employ to keep their check-in and hand-carried tote bags bulge-free?) These privileged travelers look down with superiority on the huddled (and overloaded) masses going Economy.

I address, therefore, this little reminder to all Business and First Class travelers: Do you know that if the Economy passengers did not fill up three-fourths of the plane, the plane will not take off?

I say this also to some airline crew who has played favorites to the annoyance of the great majority. Be kind and gracious and take good care of the Ecos. Know what food combinations are popular in the "back row" class and for goodness’ sake, don’t go around telling them that you’re out of Hainanese chicken or pasta. Check the rest rooms periodically and make sure there’s a good stock of soap and paper and the tiny, rubberized floor is kept dry and tissue-less. Use also a room freshener to disinfect and refresh the cubicle. If they get sick and they press the button asking for a motion-sickness pill, don’t tell them to wait until you have served the 200 passengers first – an upset stomach follows no ethics or protocol. Take pains to ensure that their video headsets are working and that their lap trays are not broken. If they ask you for an extra packet of peanuts to go with their pre take-off drink, don’t sneer or frown at them. The peanuts were not deducted from your pay slip or, were they? Without the Ecos, you’re out of a job.

The final call: Old and young, nervous and confident, couples and singles, backpackers and businessmen, just as in life, the departure doors await them all. For those who said goodbye at the airport (my husband bids me from our house), it’s about as exciting as going back to where you parked the car or flag down a bus. But if you’re the traveler, the excitement is yet to come; it’s beyond the doors, beyond the far end of the long corridor leading to a tube which leads you into another tube (remember if you’re traveling Economy, you take the longer tube). In less than a day, or approximately 15 to 18 hours (depending on what airline you take), you’ll wake up sitting in the same seat, except you’re in New York.

Don’t you just love flying?

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E-mail me your dream and/or nightmare stories on flying at lettyjlopez@hotmail.com.