Chris Moss Online

Everyone has their Academy Award favorites, and someone has to win and someone has to lose. It was great to see Jamie Foxx win for his amazing portrayal of Ray Charles in Ray.

Morgan Freeman also won best supporting actor. The injustice I mentioned was not committed last night, it has been committed over the course of several years, because the Oscar that Mr. Freeman won last night was his first ever. Unbelievable.

I’ve been watching Morgan Freeman since I was a little boy and he was on “The Electric Company.” He has had many memorable roles, from principal Joe Clark in “Lean on Me” to chauffer Hoke in “Driving Miss Daisy”, to his amazing performance in one of my favorite films, “The Shawshank Redemption”. There have been many more, and I look forward to many more of his films and to seeing him win the recognition he deserves.

Current mood – curious
Current music – “All I Want” – Bernadette Moley

Immigra is the Spanish word for immigration. Uttering this word in certain places is likely to send throngs of Hispanic men diving for a hiding place. It’s not funny, but it is true. Immigra is also the word I use for US Immigration & Customs stations encountered when entering the US.

Immigra used to be officially known as the INS, Immigration and Naturalization Services. Since 9/11 and the formation of the Dept of Homeland Security, it is now known as US Citizenship & Immigration Services of USCIS. Please indulge me as I continue to refer to it as Immigra.

My personal experience with Immigra has been mixed. Each time I have returned from the UK (3 times) or Australia (twice), the agents have been courteous and friendly, quickly clearing long lines of returning Americans. They look at your passport and your landing card, ask a few questions about your trip, then say, “Welcome home.” That’s the Immigration part of it, making sure you are eligible for entry. Then you go get your luggage and go through the Customs area. You stand in a second line and they ask more questions and either search your luggage or don’t. Coming home from the UK or Australia, mine has never been searched. I’ve always cleared Customs in Dallas returning from the UK and at LAX returning from Australia.

On my re-entries from Canada and Mexico, it’s been downright comical. I never saw the border agents encounter any obviously foreign-looking people at these crossings, so I don’t know how they treat them, particularly Mexicans. My one re-entry from Canada was in a car and James was with me. The smiling guard leaned in and said “everybody American in here?” James said “nope, Australian.” The guard’s face fell, as he thought he was going to have to do some work. When he looked at James’ passport and saw he had already been admitted, he was relieved and waived us through.

On two trips from the Caribbean, where we cleared Customs in San Juan, the experience has been horrible. Immigra there does not discriminate…they are downright mean to every single person who comes through there. They treat you as if coming through there is a priviledge and that you should be grateful to them if they let you back into your own country. Oddly, all the agents are Puerto Rican. Hrmmm.

Since James has been staying for an extended period, none of his experiences have been good. In fact, they’ve all been horrible because he is subjected to intense interrogation each time. Even if he were to have no problems, it is always a stressful moment, because I have to go through the “returning US Citizen” line, and he has to go through one of the 400 lines for foreign nationals, so we get separated. I clear quickly and have to wait on the other side for him. It always takes him quite a while and we never know if he will be turned away.

That’s all I’m going to say about that, but those of you who know us realize how difficult this is. Especially because we like to travel, and James refuses to travel outside the US because we don’t want to deal with this situation, and of course I agree with this position. It’s very ironic that in the land of freedom, one can feel quite constrained.

I believe that every American who has strong feelings about our Immigration policies should travel internationally a few times. Even just having friends from outside the US will help, because our foreign friends and colleagues do not like dealing with Immigra. Today, all entering foreign nationals are fingerprinted and photographed – essentially treated like a criminal. Not very good for business or tourism. Certain friends of ours refuse to come here to visit, and I don’t blame them one iota. Certain of my American friends, particularly those in love with the current administration, feel that those law-abiding foreigners with nothing to hide shouldn’t mind. Well, I agree that it’s not like they have to worry about being “caught” breaking a law or not gaining entry, but that’s not the point. The point is that we shouldn’t treat our friends like criminals. How would you like it if James & I patted you down and ran a criminal background check each time you came through our front door?

On my recent trip, entering the UK was no problem. Flying domestically within the UK is interesting, since they do photograph each boarding passenger (ALL). They destroy all records 48 hrs after the flight lands. This has more to do with the IRA than with other types of terrorism. You see, other parts of the world have been dealing with terrorism for many years before 9/11/01.

Leaving the UK was a different story. Everyone was polite, but it ended up being quite annoying. Perhaps I was more annoyed than usual since we had an issue getting to the correct terminal on a freezing cold bus since the trains weren’t working. Anyway, when we approached the AA counter, we first had to talk to one of four “security” agents. They identified themselves as AA employees, but I highly doubt this. They gave a long schpeel up front that took about two minutes (literally) to explain that they were going to ask some questions to help ensure my security and the security of others. The questions were along the lines of:

Have your bags been with you at all times since you packed them?

Has anyone you do not know given you anything to carry on the flight?

(some of you may recognize the first two as questions domestic carriers used to be forced by the FAA to ask, but after 9/11 the FAA finally acknowledged these questions were pointless since terrorists aren’t always completely honest)

Does your bag belong to you?

How long have you owned your bag?

…and other innane questions. None of these struck me as particularly useful. I did successfully confound the woman interviewing me, since the name tag on my bag reads “James Nunn.” She scolded me and put a paper nametag on the handle that had my name on it. I laughed.

Afterwards, we went to the AA counter, got our tickets lightning quick, then went to security. I have made a habit of taking off my belt and shoes and emptying my pockets and sending all that through the x-ray machine. I don’t want the metal detector going off, because if it does, you get the wand treatment and possibly patted down, and surprisingly I don’t enjoy being treated like a criminal. Well, despite the fact that I had nothing metal on my possession except the rivets on my Levi’s, the metal detector went off. I got kind of pissed off because, I had gone to all the trouble to take off my belt and shoes. I typically give off an attitude to let the security agents know that I’m pissed off, because I feel that is my right, and because it always makes me feel better, although not entirely compensated, for being inconvienced and embarrassed.

Then we were in the departure lounge area of Gatwick airport international terminal, which is a bit like a mall. We did some duty free shopping and had breakfast. Then we went back to our gate. They still do “random” searches in the UK so Paul and I got subjected. They searched my carryon – the guard was very nice (and kinda cute) so I didn’t mind while he complimented me on some of the music he found on my iPod. He completely ignored the GPS, the Palm Pilot and all the connecting cables and power cords in my briefcase. I ended up getting pissed again, because I don’t understand the point of this check if he’s going to look at things that are interesting to him but ignore stuff that is more potentially dangerous, or completely overlook other compartments of my luggage. Then I had to take my shoes off again for another inspection. I just about lost it. Arrrgggh! Oh well, maybe he simply thought I was cute and worth talking to.

Obviously things are different in different parts of the world, but I can’t help but think US authorities had a lot to do with my experiences leaving the UK, since entering was so easy. I also can’t help but get angry at all the tax dollars being spent on this “security” when to me I think all we’re doing is keeping honest people honest. I lock my door at night, with the realization that anyone who wanted to get in could easily do so. We have to have some kind of security checks, but I can’t help but think we could do a more reasonable job of it.

We’re baaack. Smooth travels since we last spoke

Here is a link to the previously mentioned tapas restaurant where we ate on Friday night. Turns out they have locations all over the UK. We passed one on Saturday in London.

Earlier on Saturday, we also visited a place called Watergate’s. I didn’t learn until later that it is an old crypt of some sort (wonder if ‘bat and Dunc are aware!). The ceilings were really unique (have a close look at the photo in the link). Neat place! We only popped in for a drink.

Dinner on Saturday night, after the brief rest mentioned in the last entry, was at a place called Dutton’s. The food was okay but the company was great. Two friends of ‘bat & Dunc’s caught up with us, Mark and Gareth. They both seemed very nice, but unfortunately it is difficult to get to know people very well in the span of a few hours over dinner and then being in a noisy bar. However, they (as well as Neil) have been given engraved invitations to come visit us in the States, assuming that Immigra will let them in, since they are nasty foreigners. More on that later.

After dinner, we set out for Club Six T Nine. The name is very indicative of the type place that it is. Sadly (or happily, however you want to view it) this establishment is about 4 doors down and across the street from ‘bat & Dunc’s. They said they have literally had people they had never met follow them home, thinking the party was moving there – not that they go there very often. It’s geared to the younger set, but this is where we spent our evening – the up side was its proximity and also it was more economical…given that the US peso is now worth about 1/50th of a UK pound, imbibements were a bit more affordable. Time flies when you’re having fun…we ended up there until it closed – whatever time that was – we just sat around chatting about life in general.

Gareth is the type of boy who surely must get tired of every person he comes into contact with following him around like a lost puppy. In other words, he looks like a model. “Hot” is a word I try not to use more than 50 times a day, but he definitely qualifies. Gareth’s also very nice to chat with, so he’d be quite the catch. We were all quite amused when two young guys followed us home from the bar. We’re not sure how they even came inside, but I guess they just followed us all in and plopped down on the couch as if they belonged there. They didn’t stay long, but evidently one of them was very interested in Gareth, and the other guy was following the one who was following Gareth. Poor Gareth had to get up and move a couple of times, but eventually they left. It was quite funny.

Another oddity is that there is a place across the street from ‘bat & Dunc’s, I forget the name, but it’s a kebab shop where people go after the bars close to get some greasy late-nite food. Mark and I wandered over there to get some chips (french fries) and other stuff to bring back, cuz we were all starved. ‘bat & Dunc get to watch all these people heading for the kebab shop at all hours right out their front window.

Another stellar breakfast was served on Sunday morning, then we flew off to the airport, courtesy of Neil and his car. We landed at Heathrow which was really great for Paul and I since we are airliner buffs. Lots of planes from all over Europe were visiting. We rode the tube to the hotel and checked in, rested a bit, then caught up with ‘bat & Dunc for dinner, who had decided to come down via train. It is very important to point out that they didn’t come down to extend their visit with us, but ‘bat needed to get a haircut. They also have a small apartment in north London which evidently they keep only because the person who cuts ‘bat’s hair is nearby and, as we were told, they don’t have scissors in Chester.

Monday I got to commute to work on the tubes like a Londoner. My iPod came in very handy. I had a conference in the morning and then went to my company’s London office which is across the street from the Tower of London. I met with some of my colleagues from that office, where I was served an over-the-top lunch in a small executive dining room that looks out onto St. Katherine’s docks. Lunch included chicken curry, rice, salad, wine, a wonderful apple-cobblerish dessert, followed by a cheese course. And I didn’t think they liked Americans! After, I went to the office of a broker and had a pleasant meeting, then they took me over to Lloyd’s of London. To avoid boring you, suffice to say they have a very unique way of doing business and it was amazing to me to see it first hand.

Dinner again with ‘bat and Dunc on Monday night, followed by drinks at 2 different places in SoHo. It started to snow – big, thick, beautiful fluffy flakes. We made it back to our hotel before the tubes close at midnight and by morning there was about 2 inches on the ground. I was very concerned that we didn’t hit any of the big gay venues in London, which is what Brian and especially Paul had been looking forward to. Dancing at Heaven and G-A-Y would have to wait until another visit. They both said they were okay with not going, and really enjoyed Chester, and even want to go back to Chester when it is warmer so we can spend more time outside. It really is a picturesque town. Maybe we’re just getting old

We got up at 6am (midnight CST) and caught a cab to Victoria Station to catch the Gatwick Express (train) to the airport. We did a little duty-free shopping, where I was able to pick up a couple of nice trinkets for my betrothed, who I was missing pretty horribly by then.

I had gotten some cash from an ATM earlier, after we had several instances where I could have used some pocket money but none of us had any and had to rely on our hosts. By the time the end of the trip arrived, I had barely used any, since plastic works almost everywhere there. I didn’t want to have to exchange it back, because you had to pay to convert it – but withdrawals from ATM are free of such charges. Anyway, I managed to spend all my cash on things like the cab ride and shopping. Then I went to spend 5 quid on a coffee mug, and when I proffered my credit card, I was told “we’re not taking credit cards right now as our machine is down.” Doh! Paul to the rescue.

Our aircraft, a lovely triple 7, had to be de-iced. That was fun. We were all tired, but I managed to watch “Friday Night Lights,” which was pretty good. Then I slept for about 2 hours (it’s a 9.5 hr flight) and then Paul and I watched a movie on his laptop called “Formula 51″ with Samuel L. Jackson. It’s funny and oddly enough, set in Manchester UK.

Upon landing at 2:30 and clearing Immigra, we were greeted by sunny skies and 75 degree weather. It was wonderful! At home by 4pm, the dogz were very happy to see me, but James had to work until 9 so I didn’t see him for a while. I craved a cheeseburger, so dinner was Scotty P’s. I didn’t feel tired, but as soon as I finished eating (and washing it down with a Mike’s) I was suddenly hit with the need to sleep. Given that I had been up since midnight my time, I guess that was acceptable. I crashed on the sofa for a while. It’s always best to have a nap before retiring to bed.

Cheers.

As I type this, I am six hours ahead of my normal time zone. Nothing exciting happening six hours ahead

We have arrived safely in the UK. Paul, Brian and I are visiting friend ‘bat and Dunc, who live up in Chester, near the border with Wales. I suppose I could post a link to a map to show you where it is, or to a site that has information about the town, but where’s the fun in that? You can figure that part out, right?

Our trip over was relatively smooth. Got to the airport with no problems and the flight left on time. Used to be back in better days that adult beverages were complimentary on international flights. Well all the airlines are in enough trouble where that is no longer true. Made it much more difficult to sleep! Additionally, the food on international flights used to be much better as well. Now that they don’t feed you at all on domestic flights in the US, the food on international flights is garbage. Actually, it was so abyssmal it was difficult to believe they were putting it in front of us. We had to come over on a 767, which is not as comfortable as the newer 777s. The seat doesn’t really recline enough, so we were all a bit tired when we landed at 9 am. Found a Starbucks in Gatwick airport while we waited for our flight to Manchester. We had checked our bags all the way through to Manchester, and we were assured there would be no problems. When we arrived in Gatwick, we went to baggage claim anyway, just to be sure – and our bags didn’t come out. When we checked in to go to Manchester, they double checked our baggage receipts and we thought for sure there would be no problems, but as we were walking towards baggage claim in Manchester, Paul and I heard our names being called over the intercom to go to the baggage help desk, where they informed us our bags had been left behind. We never got a clear answer as to why, but Brian’s bags made it.

When we landed in Manchester, the first thing we saw was one of the Concorde aircraft, which is on display at a little observation area near the runway. Despite it being very windy and cold, we went over to have a closer look at one of these very beautiful aircraft. Bat, of course, had to remind us all that he had flown in one once (on the decadent occasion of Dunc’s 30th birthday).

Bat had managed to have one of his driving friends, Neil, pick us up. It was probably a good thing that our baggage was lost, because it wouldn’t have fit into the car. The motorway had been backed up in the direction of Chester, so we took a series of backroads to go the 30 or so miles to Chester – which was quite a lovely drive.

Bat and Dunc live in a building that was build in 1884 and was once the police station. They have the first flat (there are 3 more above) which also gives them the massive front door, the courtyard, and the basement – which used to be the cells. They are the only friends I have who have their own prison cells in their home.

We ran off to have a bite as we were all starving. We got to know the very sweet Neil a bit more and relaxed a bit since we were no longer in transit for the first time in several hours. Back to the flat to wait on our luggage (and Dunc). Naps were taken and then we went out again for a late dinner at a tapas bar – the food was really excellent. Back to the flat and we chatted for a while and finally collapsed in bed about 3:30 am.

This morning we all got up around 11. Bat (yes, I was shocked, too!) made us a big breakfast, complete with ham and sausage and Mimosas. One should ordinarilly be suspect of meat prepared by a vegetarian, but it was yummy. After we all had showers and coffee, we felt human again and headed off to see what Chester had to offer. I visited once about 2 1/2 yrs ago, so it was nice to just kind of look around without feeling the need to photograph everything. Besides, Brian and Paul were taking plenty of photos, so expect to see some soon. Chester is a bit of a tourist town, the type where Brits go. The draw is that the Romans built walls here around the city some 2000 years ago. Later in the 1400s, new walls were built on the foundations of the original walls. I find it absolutely amazing that the locals here refer to something built that long ago as “new.” As we passed an old house somewhere on the road yesterday, bat pointed at it and said “oh look, that roof is older than your country.”

Tried to do some geocaching, but the GPS isn’t cooperating currently. It can’t find more than 2 satellites and needs at least 3 to triangulate its position. The whole time we were out, it never found them and I began to wonder if it would work here. When we got back, checked the site and learned this is a common problem. The GPS works worldwide, but it “thinks” that it is still in Dallas and is expecting to find certain satellites. It needs to sit stationary somewhere with clear exposure to the whole sky for about 30 minutes. Well, it is now sitting out back in the courtyard trying to find satellites. The courtyard is all walled in and surrounded by buildings, and it is quite cloudy, so I’m not optimistic that it will ever figure out where it is. Oh well, geocaching was not the reason we made the trip, but the others seem eager to go find a cache, and I’d like to have a couple of UK caches found on my “list” so I hope it works.

We are relaxing with warm beverages now before heading off to dinner later, and Brian is downloading photos from his digital camera. Then we have been promised a trip to see what a provincial British gay pub is like, should be interesting. Tomorrow, the three of us are heading off to London and we are staying at a Hilton near Kensington Gardens. Not sure if we will have internet access after tomorrow, so the remainder of the trip may have to be summarized after we return, which is Tuesday afternoon. Monday I am meant to work…I’ll attend a conference in the morning, have lunch at my office at International House, which is directly across the street from the Tower of London, then an afternoon meeting with a broker who has promised to take me over to the Lloyd’s building.

I forgot to tell you about the Ritz-Carlton. We got a “special” rate of $220 for one night but I had to pay “regular” rate of $317 the other night.

I was completely underwhelmed. It’s a nice hotel, don’t get me wrong, but it really wasn’t that much nicer than a good Marriott, Hyatt or Westin. In fact, I mentioned to James that the Westin we stayed in in San Antonio, where we first fell in love with their “Heavenly Bed” was much, much nicer.

Bed was pretty comfy, but even the La Quinta I frequent in Houston has larger than a 17″ Quasar TV. The clock radio was on the high end, though, complete with CD player. They had the nice terrycloth robes with the Ritz-Carlton logo monogrammed on the breast, the towels were fluffy, and the marble bath was nice. There were 3 phones in the room, including one corded one next to the john and a cordless next to the bed. A bit over the top, I suspect one cordless would have sufficed. The view was crap. The food was reasonable but not great. Fell pretty short of the “legend,” if you will.

I will say that service was first-rate, however. Each and every person I came into contact with, from the time I first called for a reservation, to front desk, to housekeeping, to room service, was insanely polite and helpful, if not subservient. If you ask me, this is the way it should always be and you shouldn’t have to pay extra for it. Some businesses are discovering that this kind of service is a competitive edge these days, but most employees are just too apathetic. I once had a clerk at Tom Thumb shrug and stuff a $15 roast into a bag without charging me because after raking it over the scanner twice he couldn’t get it to scan. Occasionally apathy works to your advantage but not usually.

I do have one gripe, and then an observation. The gripe is that the hotel advertised high-speed internet access, which was listed among amenties and to me implies that it is complimentary, as in included in the price. I dragged my laptop along so I could check e-mail and communicate with the outside world, but when I went to log in, I was greated by a screen that told me welcome to Ritz-Carlton in-room high-speed access, which is a mere $9.95/day. I declined, even though it was the company’s money – they were already spending enough on me that day. I don’t see how they can have the gall to ask for ten bucks after you’ve paid the steep price for admission. But, I guess free internet doesn’t make or break one’s decision to stay at the Ritz.

I ended up ordering room service, which means I paid $35 for a Cobb salad and one glass of riesling. I went down for dinner, but it was Valentine’s Day, and the main restaurant was serving only their special V-day menu, 4 course dinners for two at a set price. The bar was serving food, but it was packed (mainly by those attending the conference) and there was nowhere to sit, so I returned to the room.

As I perused the room service menu, there were a lot of neat things on there, but they were pricey. For $22 they will pack a snack for you and have it available at the front desk for checkout (“Flight Bites”). They offer a lot of wine and cigars, cognacs, desserts, etc for room service. It occurred to me that, this is essentially a country club. This is a place rich people stay so they can be around other rich people. As I said, the rooms aren’t really that much nicer and certainly don’t justify the price – but the prices do serve the alterior purpose of keeping out the riff raff. A place for people who don’t care about how much money they are spending, they just want someone who only says “my pleasure, sir” when you demand something and don’t want to have to share airspace with people below a certain income level. People who value things only by how much they cost. This is probably the same reason Neiman Marcus is still in business, because I don’t see paying $200 for a plain white shirt. But some people will ooh and ahh over a new white shirt, and when you tell them it cost $200, they would squeal with delight.

My observation was confirmed when my Cobb salad arrived. It tasted reasonably okay, but I recognize salad out of a bag and Kraft salad dressing, because that’s what we eat at home, too. Even paying $24 for it and eating it off a white tablecloth, wheeled to my room on a cart with a flowervase and my own salt and pepper shakers didn’t make it taste better. I think I heard the rich, snobby couple next door squealing about how good their salads were.

Just a bit more detail about my travels and some observations while in transit.

I love travelling. My family went places quite a bit, either by car or plane, when I was a kid. I guess that’s why I still like travelling. Hell, I even enjoy going to the airport. Let me know if you ever need a ride.

James & I don’t get to travel together often these days, and the only down side is leaving him (and the boys) behind. But I’m usually only gone a day or two or three, which is a good duration, and minimizes the missing. What’s the saying, “distance makes the heart grow fonder”? It’s always exciting to go somewhere, and coming home is always exciting, too. I get anticipation on both directions of travel

Anyway, one of the things I like to do when I travel is people watch. These days, that’s getting harder because most people just sit in a seat and chat on their damn phones or tap on their laptops.

One of the first things I noticed is something that just re-affirms my complaint about how little people pay attention to things. When we left Boston, as we were flying into DCA (Washington Reagan, the closest airport to DC) – the flight attendant announced that the FAA does not allow any passenger to stand up for 30 minutes before arrival into DCA. They said they would make an announcement at that time, but no getting up to get a piece of gum out of your bag, no potty breaks, nothing. They also said that if someone does get up, then they are required to divert to Dulles airport in Virginia, which is an hour car ride from DC. It sounds like it has happened before, due to the stern warning. I’ll happily debate with you the value of this rule, but let’s put that aside. Despite the simplicity of the request, the potential implication on 34 other people for one dumb-ass standing up at the wrong time, and the detail they gave about this FAA requirement (not theirs), I overheard another passenger say to his travelmate “what did she say, we’re diverting to Dulles?” She replied “I don’t know.” Fortunately, no one stood up at the wrong time, but I was amazed by their cluelessness. I guess I shouldn’t be.

I wonder how many times they’ve diverted to Dulles and inconvenienced 250 people on a 767 because some idiot absolutely had to get up and grab his cell phone out of his bag 10 minutes before landing? On the trip back to Boston, they announced we were coming into Boston and would be on the ground in 10 minutes. 8 minutes later, some woman got up to go to the bathroom. This sent the flight attendant, who was strapped into her jumpseat, flying down the aisle to have her return. The flight attendant was fairly nice about it. I find it unbelievable. This is why I could never be a flight attendant. I would have opened the door and thrown the lady out to prevent her from reproducing. And it scares me what I might have done had someone done something stupid like that coming in to DC and really caused a diversion to Dulles. Shouldn’t there be a cause of action against a moron like that?

Not only was this woman stupid, she was inconsiderate. I always try to be considerate of others – I try to do my thing and get out of other people’s way. I loathe people who are inconsiderate of others. As we were boarding DCA to Boston flight, I was in boarding group 5. American Airlines boards by group number rather than by row number, since boarding by row number was evidently too complicated for some passengers. There is a huge printed text on your boarding pass advising your boarding group. 1 is for elite passengers, 2 is for those furthest to the rear, 3 next-furtherest to the rear, and so on. It makes a lot of sense and I commend AA for this. Every single time you board an airplane, you will notice people hovering near the gate doorway, and most of these people do not have a low group number. Occasionally, you will see a gate agent turn someone away (I love hearing “I’m sorry sir, we haven’t called that group yet”). You will literally have to ask people if they are in line, because they will get in line hoping their group will be announced before they get to the front. If it doesn’t, they’ll hang back. Suddenly, you realize the person you’ve been behind is just standing there and you have to ask “are you in line?” before going around them. I don’t understand this. We already have seat assignments. It’s so kindergarten. It’s an advance form of cutting in line, and it’s sneaky and underhanded.

Now, I don’t say all this because it really bothers me that they are getting in front of me, because it doesn’t. What bothers me is that this impish behavior tells you a great deal about these peoples’ personality and integrity. I really want to say something to them about it, to sort of “call them” on it, but I would just look petty, because it would certainly appear that way. The reality is, these people most likely cheat on their taxes and lie on a regular basis and I would never trust them at all.

The guy who ended up sitting in the aisle seat in my row (I was in window, center was empty) was one such person. I have a story about him, but I have to preface by explaining that our flight was only about half full and there were a lot of empty seats. One advantage to being a techno-geek and do-it-yourselfer like me is you learn a lot. I either check in on the computer before I leave for the airport (you can print your own boarding pass) or use the self-service check-in kiosks at the airport. Today, I checked in at the kiosk about an hour before flight. Since I was in no hurry, and no one was waiting behind me to use the machine, I pressed the option for “change seat assignment”. This is the first time I’ve done this. It pulls up a real-time seat map, showing available seats. I had a window seat (my preference), and there was someone sitting in the aisle, but the center seat was empty. This was pretty great, but I noticed that three rows back was completely empty. I moved to the window seat on that row, hoping no one else would be on the row and I could really stretch out.

The flight was only about half full, so when boarding the gate agent called for 1, then he called 2 and 3 together, then he called 4 and 5. Well, I saw at least three smarmy guys move towards the line but not quite get in it. My nature prevents me from just going around these people, since they are trying to appear to be in line without actually getting in line, but one hates to assume. Besides, there will be plenty of bin space on the plane, so I don’t really care. Just refer to the bit about what it says about these people, so I’m rolling my eyes a bit. Anyway, this one guy gets in right in front of me and is slowly inching up, with quite a gap between him and the next person in line. Then the gate agent calls groups 6 and 7 (I’m 5) and then he happily advances up, the very next in line after the last announcement. He’s very proud of himself.

Anyway, he ends up being the guy in D (aisle) on my row. I’m not sure, but somehow he got behind me during the walk down the jet bridge. He probably stopped to buy some drugs, I don’t know. So, I sat down in my window seat, took out my book and iPod, and put my briefcase under my seat. I’m expecting no one else will sit in my row, but I will wait until the door is closed before stretching out. Will be nice to shove the briefcase off to the other side of the floor, and use the middle seat to lay my jacket (instead of my lap).

Well, you-know-who comes along and plops down in D, stowing all his crap in the middle seat as he takes an agonizing amount of time to put his carry-on in the overhead, holding up the rest of the boarding passengers (probably leftovers from Group 5 he cut in front of) waiting for him to clear the aisle so they can pass. Great, company.

He leaves all his stuff in the middle seat; he has now claimed it. He might as well have pissed on it like a dog marking his territory. He breaks out his laptop and Blackberry. This is not just to impress those around as he is a busy guy. We push back and they tell us to turn off electronic devices, so I stop the iPod in the seatback. Mr. Busyboy put away his laptop but keeps jacking with his Blackberry. The flight attendant pretends to not see him the first time she passes by, but on the second time (as we’re getting close to the runway), she has to say something to him. He lingers a good 30 seconds before he complies, all the while with the flight attendant standing over him. She never said anything else, just stood there. I don’t understand this, as I would have snatched it out of his hand and thrown it in the air toilet after about 5.

After takeoff, he shoves a sandwich down his throat then reproduces the Blackberry after they announce “it is now safe to use approved portable electronic devices. However, cell phones, 2-way pagers and wireless PDAs may not be used unless the wireless features can be completely disabled.” A Blackberry, for those who don’t know, is essentially a device that allows you to receive and send e-mails (it has a tiny keyboard) via cell phone networks. They’re great and I’d love one, but this is not about that, it is about Mr. YourRulesDon’tApplyToMe. He is jacking with his Blackberry for the entire flight. Now, I concede, Counselor, that it is entirely possible that Mr. Blackberry is reviewing old e-mails that he has previously received the last time he was connected, and is drafting e-mails that will be sent the next time he connects. It’s possible. For 3 hours. Not likely.

Well, the plane didn’t crash so no harm, no foul, but if I were his IRS auditor I’d check those deductions pretty closely.

His inconsiderate behavior didn’t end there. When we landed and were deplaning, he left a plastic bag filled with newspaper and a big styrofoam container that previously held his dinner sitting on the floor of our row where his feet once were. I, of course, had to move it in order to get out. I was very thankful when he headed off in a different direction.

I will probably be lambasted for saying this, as someone will no doubt misinterpret what I type as wishing for a plane crash, but I do hope that the next time there is the horrible occurrence of a plane crash (one in which hopefully no one is injured), that it is later proven the plane went down because some widget salesman from Kalamazoo turned on his cell phone in-flight to call his accountant about some questionable deduction, interfering with the navigation systems.