Thursday, March 3, 2011

Half the fun is getting there...

When Bill and I travel together we ALWAYS have a disagreement. It's ALWAYS the SAME disagreement. He wants to leave the house with little time to spare to catch the flight, and  I like to obey the rules of the airline: arrive 1 hour ahead of time for domestic flights and 2 hours ahead of time for international (sometimes more if we're in a non-western country). P.S. - take the poll to the right.

Bill has spent enough time waiting at the gate that he figures he can shave off 10-20 minutes from our departure time. He believes he knows the peaks and valleys of the lines at the TSA security lines (in all airports). I, on the other hand, have seen too many times when the lines were out the door, and my heart was in my mouth.

I have tried to figure out ways to "compromise". One way, a somewhat dangerous and stupid way, is to try to make up the 10-20 minutes he has shaved off our departure time by speeding on the highway to the airport. I always drive to and from the airport. Bill gave in to me a long time ago on that. He knows I need that level of control  The last time I did this, we got a flat tire on the entrance to the I-75. Coincidence? I think not. It was only by the grace of God that our flight was delayed. Score ONE for Bill.

Another way I have chosen is to deliberately lie about the departure time. Bill and the kids have already figured this one out. It did work for a while but, the kids caught on quickly. Being the sweethearts that they are, they allowed me to continue the charade. They like to be in cahoots (yes, that's a real word) with me. They also tend to side with me regarding this issue.

Once we get to the airport and make it to the gate, I end up feeling guilty if we have to lounge in the lounge. Bill will pace up and down the terminal on his phone. I have learned to give him his ticket as soon as we leave the ticket counter, because if they call our seats to board and he is not there, we  board anyway - with or without him.. Once at the airport, HE IS ON HIS OWN. I have no mercy. More than once he's been the last man on the plane to board. I equate this to his absolute need to close down a party. He does not want to miss anything -even if it's happening in an airport terminal.

Unlike the proper loading of the dishwasher, I do not believe that we will ever sort out this disagreement. I will just have to figure out more clever ways to trick him, or he will eventually miss a flight.

1 comment:

  1. I've missed flights. Plenty of them. It's not so bad-- there's always another plane. Hanging around in an airport for an unnecessarily long time is like a little death. The lighting is unflattering and difficult to read in. The background noise is maddening: beeping, and announcements that have nothing to do with me, or are pointless security theater. The food is overpriced and not delicious. The beer is worse, and the coffee likewise.

    Just thinking about it is raising my blood pressure to very nearly the level my wife's must be when we are late leaving to get to the airport.