Hello, blog world!
If you've made it to this page, then you've probably seen my little two-line gist on the left side of this page that gives you the short answer as to why I started this blog. But here's the thing: we haven't left for Asia yet, so for now, think of my posts as Pre-Boarding.
I know you've totally heard that term before. That term, Pre-Boarding, kills me. If you're boarding the plane, then you're boarding. Pre-boarding should mean that process you engage in when you're getting ready to board the plane, like making sure you have your boarding pass or running to the restroom one last time, or tucking this month's issue of The Economist back into your bag, because, let's be honest, once you get on that flight and out of the judging eyes of society, it's SkyMall all the way, baby.
Pre-Boarding in the eyes of the airline, however, is an entirely different animal. Airlines mean it to be that if you're traveling first class, you have little kids, or you "need extra time and assistance in boarding," you get the privilege of boarding the plane before everyone else. Watching people jostle for Pre-Boarding, to me, is like sticking your ladle into the melting pot of America and taking a stir. First, there are the businessmen and women, who act like they are better than it all (trust that you aren't, because if you were, you'd have your own jet). Then, there's the harried parent, usually a single parent traveling with a gaggle of kids, one of whom is holding some sort of noise-making toy. I feel like this class of people are the only ones who get to legitimately pre-board. Sir, your kid is being loud and disruptive. Please accept this earlier place in line onto the plane as a gesture of my condolences.
Lastly, and my favorite category, are the people who need neither extra time nor assistance, but think that they can somehow shimmy their way past the gate agent without the entire flight of waiting people noticing them. I see you there, with your fake limp and your poorly-constructed eye patch made out of baggage tape and napkins from Sbarro. You may think you're fooling me, but you're not. Because I read The Economist.
So there you have it: America, in ten minutes of jostling: businesspeople, harried parents, and sneaky weasels. In this economy, it's all we have.
Anyway, for the next six weeks or so, I'm just going to share the projects, life, and meals that occupy my brain space here in our nation's capitol. And as we move on and move out to our new adventure, have faith that I will definitely pre-board before you on . . .
The Gravy Train.
