Flying the unfriendly skies

A brief trip back home to civilization -- sorry, back home to the United Kingdom -- ended a year in which I spent too much time in travel agencies, airport departure lounges and airplanes of various sizes and airlines. The long-suffering assistants at STA in Leeds and Philadelphia would, no doubt, agree. But I am now able to announce the 2001 Sour Cream Pretzels Awards for Disservice to Air Travel (thoughtfully named after the inedible snacks served by British Airways). But by way of digression, I thought you might be interested, dear reader, in my homecoming -- my return to the mother country, my sojourn in the old world. Yes, I'm going to make fun of the British for a change, rather than the Americans. I admit that, upon my arrival back in the U.K., I was confused to be surrounded by English accents again. And I'll even admit that they sounded pretty ridiculous. The girl at the coach class ticket office at Heathrow Airport in London seemed automated and I had to ask her to repeat everything. I was almost relieved to meet a Texan in the line. Once home, my friends and family bombarded me with questions about the States. Is George W. Bush really as stupid as he seems? Are all Americans obese? (Honestly, a common question.) Do they actually get Monty Python's humor? Where is Philadelphia? What do they think of your accent? Anyone who can correctly guess my answers wins a pair of Union Jack boxer shorts. Rest assured that I strove to dispel some of the more unfortunate stereotypes, just as I try to spread a more realistic image of Britain over here. It's not all tea and crumpets at five, cricket and bad teeth (thanks, Austin Powers). Oh no. We also have the most unreliable train service in the world, pubs which have to close at 11 p.m., and the largest tent on earth -- the wildly unsuccessful Millennium Dome at Greenwich. (That's pronounced Gren-itch, before you ask.) Rule Britannia, I think not. So, now that the vitriol is coursing freely through my keyboard, let's open the golden boarding card and reveal the Arrival Hall of Shame 2000. The first award, for the rudest immigration officers, goes to Frankfurt Airport, Germany. I know it's not pleasant to look at my photo, but there's no need to throw the little burgundy booklet back in my face. American Airlines unanimously wins the award for the worst PA announcements. My journey back from Minneapolis at Thanksgiving was pretty good, but the pilot on the connecting flight to Chicago suffered from a severe case of telling the passengers too much. European airlines blame all delays on "technical difficulties." This captain, however, informed us that a new flight computer had just been fitted "because the old one failed on the way over." Gulp. His colleague on the homeward leg was even better. "Welcome on board this American flight from Chicago to... [lengthy pause] Philadelphia." I was hoping at least had a map in the cockpit. Meanwhile, the Best Vertical Drop Award goes to the British Airways captain on a flight from Berlin this summer. We didn't descend into Manchester -- we plummeted. My sour cream pretzels rolled comically down the aisle during our dive-bombing of the runway. Back in the cabin, the Worst Service Award is claimed by Lufthansa, Germany's national airline. For economic reasons, I flew back to the U.S. via Frankfurt. Presumably, the ticket was so cheap because the food is rubberized and the in-flight video is rationed, switching itself off every 15 minutes. In any case, the movie was hardly worth watching. I know I am not the most up-to-date, hip, trendy and "with-it" guy on campus, but I was a little concerned that I hadn't even heard of the title. Something to do with a Brazilian cook. Yeah, it was that good. The Dumbest Airport Sign Prize is awarded to the interminably dull Newark Airport. The transit system between the terminals is so futuristic that it doesn't yet work, and the replacement buses carry a mind-bending poster which reads, "A bus is not a monorail." My bad, as some might say. And finally, the I-Know-I'm-Small-But-I'm-Not-That-Small Award is presented to Virgin Atlantic Airways. The service was impeccable, the seat back TVs are welcome and the meal -- astonishingly -- was excellent. The only drawback is that you have to sit with your kneecaps up your nostrils for seven hours. Never mind. As long as you can laugh -- and write -- about it afterwards.

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