The Fall of Flying

It’s official. Flying has lost its luster. The whole airline industry has officially passed through the first, splendid age of novelty and wonder – one further example that all great things, be it an empire or a school or hospital or church, eventually succumb to mediocrity.

Likewise, flying is now nothing more than a system – ripe with inefficiency. Sure, for a small percentage of the population who can travel first class, pine away hours in the airport in the “Admiral’s Lounge”, or be assured a place on any flight because they have more points accumulated than Matt Cecil on Tetris, flying might still be enjoyable. But, if you ask these frequent flyers, even they would tell you flying has gone the way of the Greyhound bus – an “event” that has become a nightmare waiting to happen.

These days, everyone just wishes they were important to enough to fly in a private jet like Nancy Pelosi or Prince. Anything else is rather mundane, or, worse, aggravating.

By the birth of the 21st Century flying was already fighting an uphill battle to maintain its pristine and privileged image. We were, after all, entering into the age of the Jetson’s, which made each one of us aware – if only subconsciously – that we are entitled to the ease of personal travel a car affords with the speed flying does.

Such idealistic visions were certain to crumble, but it seems several factors (international business, the ever-increasing cost of fuel and subsequent increase in ticket prices) have accelerated the demise. Two things in particular strike me as ominous factors. One: so many people fly these days (immigrants, businessmen, grandmothers, consultants) that flying is glutted with crowds, lines and headaches. Traveling from coast to coast is like joining a great stream of salmon, except there is no spawning … but, then again, there is a decent chance you may die as a result. That – the dying part – is factor number two. Ever since September 11, 2001, there is the ever-present reality (read: crisis) that flying is a dangerous activity. Sure, the chances are slim that your plane will be hijacked (let alone malfunction), but you can’t help but hear the public address boom in a color and a warning about the risk level of attack. Yes, in fact, flying is now nothing more than a means of mass, public transportation.

Every time I finish a journey now, I feel more like a salmon than an eagle … especially when you’re sitting at the terminal after a four hour flight, waiting for the door to open, crammed in against a fellow passenger who has unloaded their life upon you or ignored your very existence, being bumped and hit with luggage, waiting to move, eyeing the people who fumble with their bags, trying to remain polite, but also keenly aware that if people don’t start to move soon, you may, nay, you will climb over every seat and person necessary to get out of this flying sardine can.

Don’t take it too harshly, airline execs. If it could happen to Rome, it could happen to you.

Wes