This past week, I once again had the opportunity to experience the joy of flying. I used these words over 50 years ago and meant them. Because in the late 1960s and well into the 1970s, taking a trip that involved an airplane was a very pleasant experience. Surely wish I could say the same for today. But I can’t. Considering my latest adventure, I’m reasonably certain Orville Wright’s 1903 trip along the North Carolina coast was much more pleasant.

I flew out to California to participate in a memorial service for a beloved family friend. He was a terrific man who lived more than 98 years and filled every one of them with a zest for life. So, while there was definitely mourning, there certainly was a great feeling of celebration involved as well by a multitude of kinfolk and friends.

The state of California remains an intriguing and interesting place. I arrived just as Los Angeles was getting the last of the 14 inches of rain that gully-washed the place. That’s more water than the city is used to receiving in an entire year, let alone just four days in February. Underpasses were still somewhat flooded. But, hey, everything was green, and the orange trees were thriving.

Gas prices were north of $5 for a gallon of regular. A 12-ounce bottle of water at the corner 7-11 was $3.50. And a Big Mac combo cost $11. Plus tax, of course, which runs close to 10%. Tents dotted multiple corners, and jaywalkers still rule the roads. On the positive side, with all that rain there wasn’t one particulate of smog left in the entire San Fernando Valley. The skies dawned azure blue, and you could behold the snow-covered mountain tops that ring the basin.

But enough about the Golden State itself. It’s the going to and coming from the area that caught my attention. The phrase On Time must simply be a suggestion to airlines. My own particular return flight was delayed an hour. Apparently, that’s not unusual. This being Los Angeles, there was some entertainment provided for those of us waiting. A young woman at the gate was loudly yelling for the better part of that hour. What she was so vocal about remains a mystery, and she appeared quite harmless, but she was still at it when we finally boarded the plane.

Meanwhile, we all had to stand in line to board (no reserved seating). From my observation, it seemed only men who wear size 4X shirts were supposed to sit in the middle seats. Food consisted of three pretzels, four cheese wafers, and 3 ounces of lukewarm cola. I was told in no uncertain terms that my briefcase did NOT qualify to reside in the overhead bin. And I didn’t try and cross my legs. A foot in the aisle was going to get bent awkwardly.

My one-hour delay was nothing, though, compared to others’. A good friend and fellow memorial service attendee decided to pay a change fee and book an earlier flight for the next morning. She and her companions got up very early and encountered a substantial Uber fare to get through rush hour traffic in time for the flight. They ended up departing four hours late . . . with no explanation as to the delay. For all they knew, mechanics were tightening down a wing that had come loose. (She got home AFTER her original less expensive flight landed, by the way.)

In case you haven’t flown recently, there’s been no change to the amount of room you’re afforded in your seat. The average slim 6-year-old might fit comfortably, but virtually no one else who is older. We with even a modicum of claustrophobia cannot possibly sit in a window seat without whimpering most of the flight. And I really believe that even the middle aisle where flight attendants walk and work has shrunk in width as well.

Speaking of flight attendants, did you know that it seems they are now the clean-up crew too? I’m pretty sure there used to be people who came aboard after passengers de-planed to go through the cabin and not only get rid of trash and debris but also make sure all the seats were neat and tidy. But now we passengers are asked to thoroughly police our own area to help the crew out.

In 1963, my family took a train trip from Ohio to Los Angeles to visit my grandparents. It took three days and two nights. We had tasty hot meals, slept great, and watched the fruited plains and mountains slide by from ground level in a panoramic observation car. Surely do wish I had that option again today.

©MMXXIV. William J. Lewis, III – Freelance Writer