Ten Reasons I Hate Travel (part I)

Ok. So, I don't really hate travel; in fact I love travel so much I went to work in the travel industry. However, there are aspects of travel that cause me undue chafe. Over this ten part post, I hope to share with you those things about travel that rankle me most; and if the mood strikes, I might just provide solutions, too. So, on we go. I) Entry points to the "sterile area" This is so very high on my list of displeasure that it simply had to be first on the list. There are so very many things wrong with the methodologies being employed, or perhaps its even the employees themselves that are the problem, that I'm not quite sure where to start, but since I have to start somewhere...let's start with wait time. Travel guidelines suggest arriving at the airport 2 hours prior to your departure for domestic travel and 3 hours prior to departure for International travel. Have you ever wondered why this is? It's for the security check and not for any other reason. In the world after a September 11th tragedy, we are experiencing the fall-out from a reactionary governmental act that has put in place a bungling, ineffective agency to safeguard the portals to the airports. Along with this have come beauracratic decisions that have no real basis in the real world, but have issued forth from deep within the troubled recesses of politcal minds too far removed from real-world norms to understand what they have done. Why else would we have to queue up as cattle at a milking station to undress in public for the benefit of a total strange who is just going to yell "bag check!" at the slightest hint of irregularity in your carefully packed bags? When I travel on a day-trip, I take one backpack that has in it all the bits & bobs I'll need for that day: my laptop and attendant cables, my cellphone, my camera (see my photo journal), work documents, a book, mp3 player and headphones, contact solutions & glasses case and perhaps a snack. In order for me to get through security into the "sterile area" I have to take off my shoes & belt and place them in a bin with my jacket on top; I have to unpack my laptop, camera & cellphone and place them in another bin; I have to pull out my 1 quart (NO larger!!!) zip lock baggie with my contact solutions in it and place that in yet another tub and I still have to deal with my backpack. All of this is supposed to fit on a 4-6 foot long table that may or may not be at the same height as the converyor belt. Assuming the table and the edge of the scanning machine are of a similar height, which is by no means a safe assumption, I slide the bins, one at a time, into the opening while hoping that the person on the other side of the divided table is paying attention to the "laws of merging traffic" and lets me get all my stuff on before she starts in with hers. Finally, after numerous starts and stops, all my bins get placed on the belt, and my backpack, considerably lighter now, gets placed face-down on the conveyor. The whole packages then moves slowly into the recesses of the machine to be scanned for contraband. Meanwhile, the hundreds of people behind me waiting & (hopefully) prepare, to do the exact same dance for the Transportation Safety Authority. I have only now to re-pack my belongings and re-dress myself in public before continuing on to my gate. But as happens so very frequently, "bag check!" is yelled by the minimum wage cross-eyed girl sitting behind the machine. Yep, my backpack needs to be checked; all those cables and connectors for my laptop apparently look suspicious enough to warrant a hand-check and a chemical sniff. At least it affords me the opportunity to re-dress in leisure and because I arrived 2 hours before my flight, as suggested, I'm not overly worried about getting to the flight on time. After the TSA has declared that they really are just cables to a computer, I'm allowed to continue on my way. But now, after nearly an hour in line, I have not the time to get a frosty adult beverage from the bar nearest the gate. I must plod on and bite my frustrations on my tongue with the calming effect of a good stiff drink. How can this be made better? I think a few simple things would help a great deal. First, is there really a need to check my boarding pass 2 or even 3 times during that experience? Check it once, check it througoughly as I walk through the metal-detector. Second, make the table on which we prepare our bins & bags and buckets of stuff longer and for goodness sake, butt it up against the edge of the conveyor belt after making sure it's the same height. Being able to push from one end and slide the whole bit into the machine at once would be a massive burden-easer. Third, when your bag has passed the screening test and doesn't need to be hand-checked or sniffed, shoot the thing out the end for immediate retrieval. Don't make the passenger wait because the sap behind him in line forgot to take that bottle of hotel shampoo out of his toiletries bag. I find it increasingly irritating to wait while someone else's bag needs to be gawked at and pointed at when mine has already passed muster. Just rearrange the conveyors in such a manner that after it's cleared, it's on a separate belt. Fourth: can we please have more room in which to get re-dressed? It's a circus scene. Look around you at all the folk hopping around on one foot trying to put on the other shoe, a belt and repack a bag in a hurry so the lines aren't held up anymore than they already are. Fifth, and this is the easy one. Hire only nice people. Standing in line for 40 minutes be barked at by some drill-sergeant reject is sure to put everyone in a bad mood. Sixth, pay the poor folk doing that horrifically thankless job a little more money. The attrition rate of a TSA agent is high. Too high. Pay them more, and they might stick around a little longer and be a little nicer. I know I'd rather pay a few extra dollars every time I walk into an airport if I know that the security line is going to be handled by and efficient, knowledgeable, polite workstaff and that not every single computer cable or hotel shampoo bottle is going to demand a "bag check!" That's it. Wastrel On! (Listening to: Led Zepplin)