Airlines. Again. Can't We Just Drive?

Airlines. Fucking airlines. Always trending. Why? Because we all hate them. Every last one of us.

But we're forced to use them.

Got a 'vacation' coming up. My wife calls it that. I call it 'enduring sobriety for 72 hours in a different climate'.

Florida. Again.

Means waking up at 4 AM.

Already regret that. Might just start drinking at 3 AM. Even things out.

Then the airport. Imagine hell. Now add fluorescent lights and expensive coffee.

That's an airport.

We line up. Forever. Like cattle.

Through security. Take off your shoes. Take out your laptop. Random pat down. For what? My hangover cure? My emergency flask of Jameson?

Then the gate. More waiting.

Kids are already bored. My patience? Gone. Vanished somewhere around the 'express' security line.

Finally on the plane. Cramped. So cramped.

My knees are begging for mercy.

Little Jimmy behind me is kicking the seat. Little Susie two rows up is practicing her opera.

The air is recycled farts and despair.

And I'm supposed to 'relax'. To 'enjoy the journey'.

No thanks.

Just give me the plane-sized booze. And make it quick.

Then we land. Another airport. Another rental car line. Another hotel check-in. More 'family fun'.

I just want my couch. My remote. My cheap beer. And an early bedtime.

But no. We gotta fly. We gotta 'make memories'.

These memories? They mostly involve me clenching my jaw and wishing I was five sheets to the wind.

Can't we just drive? Yes, it's 18 hours. But at least I can stop when I want. Buy a real beer. Yell at the kids in the privacy of my own car.

Maybe next time. If my liver holds out that long.

Another drink. For trends. For travel. For the sheer fucking audacity of it all.