Do What With My Seatback and Tray Table?

Last week, I took my first plane trip in eleven years.

Naturally, I'd forgotten a lot about those things since I was five, including the heavily standardized script the flight attendant rattles off before takeoff. (This serves the convenient double purpose of emergency instructions and mild sedative.) But on the first leg of the trip, I was lucky enough to get a steward who didn't mind taking a creative riff or two: - "The lavatory is that small door down towards the back. It's the only door on this airplane with an actual knob. Notice that I do not call it a bathroom - this is because there is no bath and there is no room." - "In the unlikely event that our flight turns into a cruise, your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device. We will be around with beer and snacks later." - "There's a little button by your reading light that looks just like me. If you need help, feel free to press it. However, if you press it more than three times, your luggage might accidentally be ejected inflight." - "Ladies and gentlemen, you may now disembark. Please watch your head.

And if you choose not to watch your head, at least watch your language." One thing I learned fairly quickly about air travel is that it isn't particularly kind to those whose ears don't pop easily. The first landing wasn't much fun, and I'm sure my squeals of pain weren't exactly music to the ears of my fellow passengers.

So for the return trip, I took the usual advice - bring gum to chew during takeoffs and landings and drink a lot of water beforehand. The first of these was accomplished fairly easily in the form of one of those coiled-up bubble gum ropes. But the tap water in Orange County tastes something like vinegary chalk, whether it's sourced from a motel faucet, a glass urn at a gleaming spa, or a brass drinking fountain in the shadow of Disneyland's Matterhorn. Needless to say, this is highly inconvenient in such a dehydrating place as SoCal.

So upon descending into the Pasco airport, my ears persisted for hours in painfully popping, producing a noise akin to the air squeaking out of a deflating balloon.

During the trip, I gained invaluable insight into myself. I learned, for example, that I come in two colors: "Computer Nerd" and "Medium Well".

I also discovered that the Spanish class I took last year comes in handy, and that many of the fancy-sounding Mexican restaurants around my hotel had monikers with amusing translations. ("Watermelon" Café, anybody?) Perhaps the most amusing was a joint called the "Loteria" Grill. "Loteria" apparently means "lottery" in Spanish, and we were all a bit puzzled by that choice of name. ("Our chef was trained at the best cooking schools in Europe. He's on duty one night a week. Will we live up to our Michelin rating? Come and try your luck!")

In the meantime, it's good to be home - especially where hydration is concerned.