It's Not The Journey, It's The Destination.

Well, as we learned in the last post, an unhappy D is a writin’ D.

Right now, I’m making my way to Cincinnati for a hearing. It’s about a five and a half hour drive, so I had to decide whether I should fly or drive. I mistakenly thought that it would be more convenient to fly and have been paying for it since.

Something always goes wrong when I fly. The airline once lost my bag when I took a direct flight to Cleveland (which was less than an hour flight), though I flew at 6:00 am and there was no one else in the check-in or security line. So they really had to work extra hard at losing that bag.

Because I can’t afford to have the airline play Criss Angel with my luggage this time around, I FedExed my files to the hotel and planned to take my suit in a carry-on bag. Well, everything was fine until I got stopped in security because of the new guidelines regarding carrying “liquids” on the plane. I couldn’t keep my toiletries in its usual case. I had to place them all in a clear one-quart sized plastic bag. This was very important to the airline, because my otherwise explosive toothpaste would be rendered harmless by the miraculous healing properties of a Ziploc bag.

But I didn’t have such a bag and no place there sold them. You can buy everything short of a handjob in an airport these days, but I couldn’t find a simple plastic bag. When I get back, I’m going to get a kiosk, where I’ll sell these bags for $10 each. I would have been ecstatic to pay this amount.

Not wanting to part with my stuff, I decided checked my bag, which is probably somewhere over the Great Plains as I write this.

I know this is a security measure designed to keep me safe. But I also know that there is absolutely no risk of terrorism on my flight.

I know this because I fly Northwest.

No self-respecting terrorist would ever fly Northwest. It lacks the professionalism and commitment to quality service demanded by the modern-day evildoer.

Phone conversation transcripts (obtained courtesy of FISA)

Ahmad: Dear Leader, it is I, your servant Ahmad.

OBL: Where are you, Ahmad? You were scheduled for martyrdom two hours ago!

Ahmad: I’m sorry Benevolent One, but my flight is delayed. Northwest says that there is "weather" in Chicago.

OBL: They always say there is “weather” in Chicago! What does that mean anyway?

Ahmad: I have no idea. They also said that they are changing crews. And I believe a lightbulb in out in one of the flight instruments. They said to check back in a couple of hours.

OBL: Next time we attack the Great Satan, we fly Delta!

Another transcript:

Ahmad: What do you mean that you lost my bag? How can you lose my bag? I had a direct flight!

Customer Service Rep: I’m sorry, sir. Can you please describe it?

Ahmad: Yes, it was a black suitcase. And…uh… it might glow in the dark.

I took a connecting flight to Detroit, which was so small and so packed that I sincerely hope that none of the women on it were ovulating, because they would probably end up impregnated from the sheer proximity to the other passengers.

I have the worst luck with seatmates when I travel. I never get the twenty-one year old wanna-be spokesmodel, who’s traveling from the Midwest to the big city with nothing but perky breasts and a dream. No, like on my recent trip to California, I get the guy who farted his way through two time-zones. I spent the flight hoping for a sudden loss of cabin pressure so that the oxygen masks would drop.

Airplanes are disgusting places. I can’t imagine ever being horny enough to join the Mile High Club. First off, the bathrooms are not even big enough for me to have sex with myself, much less with someone else. Plus, I’d hate to come in contact with the particulates that coat everything in there after repeated explosive flushings.

I figured out why airlines are so bad during the flight attendant’s pre-flight instructions. How can they have any respect for their customers when they think that we are so dumb that they have to show us how to fasten our seatbelt?

Update: Ok, I made it to the airport, and guess whose bag didn’t make it? I’m completely serious. I went to the customer service rep. She looked on the computer and tells me that my bag is still in Detroit. She can’t explain why my bag decided not to join me. Perhaps it is visiting friends.

My suit is in the bag. I’d hate to appear in court without a suit. I’d hate even more to go commando. She tells me that my bag is will be at the airport at 10:30 and that they’ll deliver it to the hotel about midnight.

I’m starting to think that Northwest has something against me. It may have something to do with a nasty series of letters that I wrote them when trying to help a friend with her own lost bag dispute. I closed the last letter with “Blow me” instead of “Sincerely,” although I sincerely meant it. I wrote it in Latin because that seemed more lawyerly.