Holiday travel.... One word usually comes to mind: nightmare. Yesterday I flew home from Washington to Los Angeles, to be with my family for Thanksgiving. It was an alarmingly smooth and painless journey. I had a direct flight. There were no crying, colicky babies. And — icing on the cake — there was an open seat next to me, so I didn't have elbow wrestle with anyone for the armrest. You think I'd be trilled by this no-headache, disaster-free travel experience. But I gotta tell ya, folks, it was mind-numbingly dull. I got no funny stories out of it, which, truth be told, I was counting on as an icebreaker for the smalltalk portion of Thanksgiving dinner. Now I've got nothin'. But that hasn't always been the case. Enter the time that guy sitting diagonally across from me snored like a grizzly bear for our entire red-eye flight. I thought he was going to swallow his tongue. Or the time I had to sit in three hours of traffic because a moving van dropped a baby crib in the middle of the 405. Or the every-person-for-himself, Donner family mentality when it comes to fighting for overhead cabin space. Or my personal all-time favorite:
the paranoid fliers, with their rosary beads and looks of extreme horror during pockets of turbulence, who absolutely refuse to pop a Valium.* So what's your worst holiday travel nightmare? Come on, TOTN bloggers, I need some good icebreakers!
* aka, my mom.
Editor's note, from David Gura: Ashley, none of us here, working, have any sympathy for you.... Sorry.