Not too high on airlines these days? Stand in line

Just when you thought air travel couldn't get any worse, two drunks board your flight and one of them barfs all over business class.

Ah, the guilty pleasure of being sandwiched in coach, watching the excitement from the cheap seats. On top of that, the flight is then delayed while the tipsy travelers are ejected from the aircraft and the front of the cabin is fumigated.

And that was only Sunday night's installment in my airborne adventures of 2008.

There was a time - and I'm old enough to vaguely remember it - when air travel seemed glamorous. Passengers dressed up in their Sunday best, airlines laid down fabulous meals and security was a breeze.

I think we can all agree it was a more civilized time. (My family never actually flew in those days; we marveled at romanticized air travel on TV and in the movies.)

As soon as the hoi polloi began to fly, airlines downscaled. Why put on the dog for these mutts, they figured.

Seats got smaller, passengers got bigger, and the skies got more crowded. Until flying became a lot like riding the bus.

Part of the problem today is increased security, which we all understand. We also understand that the high price of jet fuel has caused airlines to cut a few corners. Some airlines now charge for reserved seats, snacks and soft drinks. They also slap tariffs on bags, as if taking along a suitcase on a two-week business trip is a luxury.

The goal of luggage fees is allegedly to reduce the weight of the aircraft. In reality, or at least in my case, they simply transfer weight from the baggage-handling professionals to the passengers.

Last month, I boarded a flight in Denver bound for Minneapolis, with a plane change in Dallas. The clerk behind the Colorado counter weighed my bag and frowned. I was an ounce or two over 50 pounds.

"Take something out," he ordered, "or it'll cost an extra 50 bucks."

"Wait," I argued. "It's 25 bucks for a second bag, but if my only bag is one ounce over it costs 50?"

He nodded.

I thought about the bean counters back at the newspaper and gingerly unzipped a corner of the stuffed case. My hair dryer was on top. When I removed it, the bag's weight came down - and mine went up.

So, yes, that was me with the same dryer in the 40-plus-deep standby line in Dallas a few hours later, after my flight to the Twin Cities had been canceled. I was loitering next to a 20-something guy with red eyes.

He wasn't drunk. He was crying.

Due to the canceled flight, this guy missed his wedding rehearsal dinner. If he didn't get the last flight out of Dallas that night, he'd need a stand-in at his wedding the next morning in Minneapolis.

He told his sad story to the workers behind the counter. They barely suppressed their yawns.

So he stood in the queue, his cell phone ringing incessantly.

Minutes before the gate closed, the groom's name was called. His stand by number was 20, I think. A cheer went up from those left behind as he sprinted down the jetway.

I couldn't clap because my hands were full. I waved my hair dryer instead.

Kerry Dougherty, (757) 446-2306, kerry.dougherty@cox.net