That’s what I need to do and where I am. . . LAX airport that is.  Just when I think air travel has gotten as trying and stress-inducing as it can possibly get, a new annoyance is introduced to vex me sorely.

It’s hard to believe but there was a time in which I thought having a job that required frequent air travel would be the ultimate in fun. That was probably because I didn’t take my first trip in a commerical airliner until I was a Sophomore in college.

By the age of 26 I had only flown 3 times. But I made up for lost time after that. 

Of course, back in those days it was easy to believe that the appeal of flying would never dim. But somewhere between the airlines’ figuring out how to scientifically make sure that every single flight is overflowing with squalid humanity; the shoe bomber making it necessary to queue up in sock feet; 
and the Islamic shampoo chemists making it impossible to have some Aqua Velva in your carry on, the exercise has lost a bit of its charm.

I’m sure my forbearers who traveled from Tennesee to Texas in the mid-1800s by horseback and buckboard would cry me a river.