repatriation

My transcontinental flight home for the holidays was littered with epiphanies and observations, some positive some negative.

1. Flying sucks. At best, I felt like a peasant in a tyrannical monarchy. At worst, I felt like a pack animal. Upon check-in, there were two lines. Each had equal staffing and equal capacity. But one had 200 people in it, and the other had at most 2. The economy line was atrocious, snaking back and forth across the terminal in a formation that bore explicit resemblence to a cattle run. Dub over the chatter of aggravated passengers with mooing and you'd think you were in a slaughterhouse. There was even an attendent herding passengers in an effort to keep the vacant line for Priority Plus and Business class unobscured. I honestly wondered if she was going to require us peons to bow before the "royalty" strolling up the red carpet to the VIP counter. Let's hear it for socioeconomic stratification.

Even more disheartening is passenger behavior. When the flight attendants roll the service carts up the aisle, everybody lowers their traytable. I did it myself, and was instantly disgusted. Pavlov taught dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell. Delta taught humans to lower traytables at the sight of a food vessel. What's the difference?

2. I live a long, long way from home. Somehow, my transatlanticism had never really sunk in. I stared at my customs form and read "Country of Residence:" I hesitated and finally wrote "Denmark." I have no clue why, but it took that fact a solid few seconds to register.

Being back in the States is proving to be a great time. I've eaten the hell out of some food at every Mexican restaurant in the greater Chapel Hill area, rekindled my romantic flair with sweet tea, and caught a couple UNC games. There's been a recent dearth of blog-worthy material, but hopefully that changes soon. Until then...