Up up and away again

I had an anthropology graduate drive me to the airport today, so that meant I got to talk to somebody about colonialism for half an hour. Roughly half my Lyft drivers have been interesting on this trip, and the rest hardly spoke; there was an ex-domain broker, a political agent, an ultramarathon runner and a man who didn’t want to go on holiday with his family to Boracay because it’s too expensive. So that was an interesting view into another life.
At the airport itself, the security line moved fairly fast. That was because I’d lucked into the premium line, and to increase value via artificial scarcity, the proles in the normal line get one queue to be scanned through, and the posh people (of which there are half as many) get two lines to process them faster. Because when you have more, things have to be more comfortable for you.

Not that I want to complain about the iniquities of travel when I’m getting the good end of it. I just want to shuffle through, put my shoes back on and then eat as much cheese and drink as much soda as I can until the plane takes off.

Then it’s just a matter of staying awake for half the flight. It’s a 10:50 departure this evening, but that means if I sleep early on, I’ll wake around midnight local time in my destination, and then feel like death for the next couple of days. Better to tough it out and pass out at 6am San Francisco time. Or so I keep telling myself.

At least it’s another shiny 787 again. Planes, I love shiny planes…

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