Mud in Your Eye

This job has a million perks, we’re getting paid to ride motorcycles. But, there are aspects of this career choice that are less than stellar. As with any job, there are things that inherently suck, and for this travelling journalist, nothing compares to a ride in the germ tube. You might know these flying contraptions as aeroplanes, but they represent the worst (and, unfortunately, best) form of transportation.

I have no germ phobias, nor am I an aerophobic, but combine the two and it puts me more than a little on edge. I take steps to make sure I’m not “that guy” who hacks and coughs the entire trip. Knowing that I was headed for a stint in the G-Tube, I took half of Monday off when I woke up feeling sub-par. Monday morning is probably the worst to sacrifice, but I was determined to get extra rest and start a Vitamin-C regimen that would have the immune system up to snuff. Having to travel when you are sick is unavoidable at times, I understand that, and if you aren’t sick leaving home then you probably will be by the time you redeem your long-term parking ticket.

Stage 1 was Medford to San Francisco – Medford rebuilt the airport about a year ago and the new facility with its clean walls, shiny handrails and pressed TSA uniforms tried its damndest to fool me, but I knew what was waiting on the other side of that gate. Fortunately, the trip was quick and I didn’t notice a single sniveling passenger. So far so good.

A quick layover and it was right back into the second tube. The jaunt to Burbank was even shorter, and again I was pleasantly surprised to find myself relatively lonely, but apparently the weight needed redistribution which meant all the passengers up front started herding back. Lo and behold, a giant of a man with watery eyes and a soggy napkin clutched between sweaty fingers plopped down right behind me. He was followed by the plump lady who squished in on my left, sealing my fate. Within a minute the respiratory battle raged with the juiciest symphony of loogies I’ve ever witnessed – all aimed down the nape of my neck. The altitude climbed and the cabin’s atmosphere controls kicked in with a stunning display of circulating efficiency. A steady, cool breeze from the hard-working AC caressed my face, making sure I didn’t miss a single ounce of goodwill from the generous petri dish in the last row.

Thanks, phlegm-man, for everything…