I have odd traveling habits that I’ve explored in previous posts. For those of you unfamiliar, I’ll summarize as succinctly as possible: I hate air travel. Every time I travel, it is as if the world conspires to provide me with more evidence that I’m on to something – that air travel hates me back.
Last night it was no different as I attempted to make my way from Chicago to Antwerp for a Java conference – Devoxx ’12. In this story, I fight for my Irish heritage, I stand up for tall people, and I witness legal drama up close and personal. All without ever leaving Chicago.
First, it was the cab ride. Every cab I take from Evanston to O’Hare has the same properties: 1. It smells awful, just awful, I don’t even want to think about what it smells like, 2. The cab is full religious talismans and mystic amulets as if the driver relies more on prayer than on regular automotive maintenance, 3. The driver consistently takes insane risks (driving 95 mph on the Kennedy or running a train signal), 4. The check engine light is on, always, and 5. The car never really stops at a red light, it glides because the tires are bald.
Right, so flying already “activates me”, I’m already a mess because I’ve been thinking about how much I hate flying for a few days, and the ride to the airport is statistically two billion trillion times more dangerous. “Oh, wow, you handled that skid quite well.” or “No, really, slow down, I’m in no rush to get to the airport. Thanks.” There is an upside, every time I successfully reach the airport, I feel invigorated. On a rational level I know I just survived the riskiest part of my trip. Continue reading