OK, back from that well-lit Loopyland that is Las Vegas.

One thing about endless American Airlines flights where you’re trapped in the middle seat for five years (that’s an actual Freudian slip of sorts–I typed ‘years’ instead of ‘hours’ and only noticed it when I gave a final proofread before publishing)–they really make you appreciate a crummy 45-minute Metro-North ride that much more. I am absolutely adamant about getting an aisle seat for reasons I’ll chalk up to a strain of claustrophobia that runs in the family. As I was checking in at McCarran for my return flight, I figured I’d ask about an exit row seat, remembering just how jam-packed the seats are after my extremely uncomfortable JFK-Vegas flight a few days before.

The woman told me she had a middle seat in the exit row. I quickly did the math in my head–middle seat certainly not ideal, but if there’s a few feet between me and the seat in front of me, middle doesn’t really matter. I grabbed it.

Big mistake. As I boarded and headed down the aisle, my eyes shot ahead for the row that seemed to have lots of room. I couldn’t find it, and instead had to search for my row number. You’d never know it was an exit row by looking at it–the guy on the aisle still had to fold himself up like a Murphy bed to let me in. Making matters worse, the guy on the window was massive.

The anxiety set in that anyone who’s flown has experienced — that feeling of, I will not last five hours here, and if I fake an epileptic seizure, maybe I’ll get to sit with the stewardesses flight attendants in the back and get a free seltzer water. The guy behind me was kicking my seat, which drives me absolutely bonkers. I shot him a half-dozen stink-eyes; he seemed to be a Japanese businessman type and failed to take my not-so-subtle hints.

Making matters worse, it was 7:30 a.m.–too early for respectable people to enjoy a cocktail, though that didn’t stop the huge guy next to me from asking for a double vodka to wash down a handful of sleeping pills.

Well, I got through it, as people on planes almost always do. And, like I mentioned, it puts a Metro-North hop into Manhattan in perspective, at least the next few times you ride Metro-North before returning to your old pet peeves. If the guy behind you is kicking your seat, simply move to another one, or stand in the vestibule–neither of which is much of an option when you’re above the clouds.

I must say, while I missed three days of work due to the trip, Metro-North has been freakishly early in pulling into Grand Central repeatedly over the past few weeks–like, three or four minutes early. I bash Metro-North when it’s late–oh, do I bash Metro-North when it’s late–so it’s only fair to mention that the railroad has been even better than prompt of late. Is it somehow related to lower ridership due to layoffs, furloughs, etc.?

I’ve also been taking the M1 bus from Grand Central to work on those mornings when I just can’t muster the resolve to get on the subway.  As I emerged from Grand Central yesterday, I spied a man at 40th and Park waving a protest placard that said, fittingly, “American Airlines–Illegal Practices.” The man had obviously suffered the perils of too-little legroom on American, and the empty Promised Land of the exit row.

(One other American complaint–charging $15 to check a bag means everyone brings ginormous bags onto the plane, which they were sort of doing anyway before the airlines started charging, obviously as a result of hearing years and years worth of comedian hacks and lame late-night hosts do jokes about an airline losing their luggage. If you prefer to board on the late side, as I do (what, spend more time on a plane than I have to?), good luck finding a little rack room for your knapsack.  

This morning, on the M1, I even got to see a fellow rider–a well-dressed white male, which you see very little of on the bus–who had a hook for a hand. That was pretty cool.

It also made me miss Vegas, and that wild pirate display they do in front of Treasure Island. In a nod to current events, the Treasure Island events crew has reworked the hourly pirate show to include a Somali teen hijacking an American freighter.

Good to be home again.