I’m actually old enough to remember when people looked forward to airline travel. Yes, as hard as it is to believe, there was a day when you could check in at the counter, get your ticket and walk, unmolested, to your departure gate, stop and purchase a tuna fish sandwich for $10.50, and then, just a few hours later, be greeted by a gaggle of your loved ones as you walked off the plane.
Now, of course, things are a little different. You can still pick up your ticket at the counter, although the smartphone boarding pass is easier. But that is just a prelude to enduring a wait only slightly shorter than that of an incoming refugee behind a person who hasn’t flown since the Wright Brothers landed at Kitty Hawk (“I have to take my shoes off?”), then potentially receive a pat down that is only mildly less invasive than your last proctology exam, and proceed to your gate while preparing your strategy to stake your claim to a portion of the overhead baggage compartment before that grandmother from Cleveland cleans and jerks her 100-pound wheely bag into the last available spot before you.