Too-Frequent Flyer Part 1 – Intro

As I lowered my tray table to accommodate the proffered bag of mini pretzels on the last leg of my latest month-long travel circuit, an unexpected advance in airplane technology caught me by surprise.  The entire inside of the tray table was covered by a vivid, full-bleed photo advertisement of a ski-shod lower torso sitting on a chair lift.  The optical illusion was almost perfect: exactly where my real legs disappeared into the circulation stopping confines of a coach class seat, my new virtual legs dangled unencumbered over trees and fresh snow.  Turning up the surrealism another notch, a flying duck holding a credit card in its beak was apparently on a collision course with my ski lift. 

Of course, once you see an ad on a tray table you wonder why all tray tables haven’t had ads on them since the beginning of time.  It seems like the perfect place for ads:  a large, flat surface and a (literally) upwardly mobile captive audience already resigned to several hours of obtrusion, inconvenience and following orders.

Having flown about 60,000 miles of domestic and international business (like anyone would subject themselves to this for pleasure) travel in the past 30 days,  I’ve had plenty of time to (1) go partially insane, and (2) reflect on the diverse and strange rituals collectively known as airline security.  Security has permeated every aspect of modern air travel.  Virtually all activities, from how you get your ticket, to how you board the airplane, eat your “meal” and go to the bathroom have changed in the past two and half years.  Air security professionals have admirably stood up to an enormous job.  Many of the new changes are both necessary and effective; others are asinine and almost assuredly counterproductive.

Over the next several entries, I’ll try to post my thoughts and impressions on the experience of modern commercial flying, with an emphasis on how countries and airlines are trying to keep us safe.  Or at least keep us content.  As they say, this is for educational and entertainment purposes only.

A few hours before landing at home, the ski-lift experience achieved its full potential.  My biological legs, efficiently numbed by the reclining seat in front of me, had ceased all attempts at communication with my brain.  With mild turbulence shaking the seat and no competing senses to put the lie to the visual illusion, I was fully convinced that I was really sitting a hundred feet above an expert slope, wind blowing on my ski suit, about to be impaled upon a duck.  For the first time aboard an airplane, I felt a tinge of fear.

Next up: Counting Threats