Between Jets

Travel time again. Home to Momma. Although there was a time when home to Momma meant good times and good food. The food is still good, it just that now my father is the cook and, on a good day Momma can sit in her chair, Parkinson's having robber her of her mobility. I always have some trip anxiety on this journey, which I try to make every two to three months now. I'm the "glue" in my family, which many wives and mothers are. We hold it all together. So I'm leaving the boys on their own for a couple of days. But they will be fine. They always are. And my mother is excited that I am coming to visit.

When I booked my jet flight, I opted to save a few bucks and ignored the "travel time" column--not something I usually do. So here I am in the Birmingham airport with an extra 3 hours on my hands. My first mission was to find food. Airports have come along way in the amenities they offer the traveler. After exploring the one concourse, I discover my choices are the Wall Street Deli or the Pizza Hut Express. Imagine that. A New York-based deli in the Birmingham airport. After surveying the deli choices, I opt for the cheese pizza. So $72 later, I choose to believe this is an opportunity to eat a delicacy that I rarely enjoy--pizza. I note they have Freshens Frozen Treats for the two-hour mark. (OK, it was really $8.45.)

My first decision of the trip was a good one. I opted to by-pass the curbside check-in line for the inside one. In case of lines, I choose to wait in air-conditioned, exhaust-free comfort. I was first in line inside. Really I was first. There was no line. (Who else is going to Louisville via Birmingham on a Sunday morning.) But as I get to security, I discover there are a lot of people going somewhere this morning. I take my place in line.

I know this drill well and have packed accordingly. My larger-than-3-fluid-ounces items are checked in my baggage. I wait patiently as people not so familiar with the drill dig out their baggies and unlace their shoes. The man behind me comments on my luggage tags. One is bright yellow and proclaims, "This is not your bag." The other is attached to my laptop bag and warns, "This is not your black bag." My turn comes and I grab two plastic bins. My allotted plastic baggie of personal 3-fluid-ounce items is just inside my zipped luggage ready for me to grab and drop in the bin.

I slide my laptop out and put in a bin. Next goes cell phone, small over the shoulder bag which will fit in the laptop bag so I meet the required two-item carryon limit, and my sweater. I wait until the last minute to slip off my platform flip flops and put them on the belt. I remember to hang on to my boarding pass. Woe to the infrequent traveler who in their haste to strip and fill the plastic bins to keep the line moving, drops their boarding pass in the bottom of the bin. That paper with the little red squiggle blessing from the TSA agents is more important than air when you are in that line.

Shoes on the belt, I tiptoe through the metal detector to avoid full-floor contact with my feet. Bare feet on that floor. Ew. I remember seeing a lady in line wearing socks with her sandals. It makes sense now. I would throw the socks away later. I pass inspection, grab my shoes first (shoes off last but first on the conveyor--key point) and slip into them. The person in front of me is still wobbling while trying to lace shoes and grab luggage off the belt.

The airports have kindly installed seating just past the gestapo maze as if to say we're sorry you had to go through that. I sit and slip all items back into their travel homes. On to my gate. I have only about a 30 minute wait to board. I sit in a comfy chair with a plug next to the chair arm for my last minute surfing.

Southwest is my fav airline. Even though they don’t have assigned seating, your boading pass is numbered. You can even pay a little extra to hold your place in line when you book your ticket. I whooped with glee to discover that I was A18 when I printed my boarding pass. They called A1 to 30. I took my place in line between posts A16 and A20. I was alone. There were two gentlemen at A1 and 2. The next folks were way back at A25. This has never happened before.

As the number 3 person to board the plane on its maiden voyage for the day, I had my pick of all but two seats. My Southwest travel strategy is to head straight for the back of the plane. I pick the third row from the back. Most people grab seats nearer the front of the plane, probably fearing that they will run out of choice seats at the rear and will have to turn around and head back up the plane against the flow. No one wants to do that. I score an entire row to myself, no one in front of me, one person behind me and one person across the aisle next to the window. An excellent trip.

I enjoy reading Spirit Magazine, the in-flight magazine for Southwest. It is full of interesting articles with quirky humor and inventive ideas. Take 3floz.com. A couple of women traveled together. One carried a small bag with travel-sized products purchased at multiple locations. The other brought two bags with her regular full-sized products. Together they created a web store featuring products of all brands that meet the TSA 3 fluid ounce requirement.

I just love stories of how people take a perceived inconvenience and make a business out of it.

So I’m thinking--right now I would love to rent a bed closet at this airport for two hours. I read somewhere that in Japan, the business travelers can now rent a tube room. Think rows of large PVC pipe stacked on top of each other. The tube rooms are equipped with wifi, sound, lighting, comfy bedding. They recognized some people just need a place to sleep. They don’t need all the extra room. I need a place to sleep.

How about gourmet take-in. You place your order at your originating gate and a meal from a local hotspot is delivered to your arriving gate. I would order fried pies from the Varsity when going to Atlanta. How about a quick nail salon - Hot soak, foot massage, and polish touch up complete in 20 minutes. Travelers need their feet taken care of. Even Jesus knew that.

So here I sit in the Birmingham Airport in the MagicCity refreshment center with a view of a Delta jetway. I think it’s time for the frozen yogurt and my Chuck Swindoll podcast. Perhaps I will nap between Birmingham and Louisville.

--Laura