"Gently Used" or "Pre-Owned" or "Vintage" Column

Labeling tools intended to disguise recycling of previously-published content.

Have you ever bought a used car? How about vintage clothing? Second-hand toothbrush? Of course not, that’s just gross.

As much as we love to discover new stuff, be it music, literature or presidential candidates, there’s still room in our hearts for things which have been around, and which seem comfortable or familiar to us - security blankets of sorts; I mean, I watch Wedding Crashers anytime I stumble across it while flipping through TV viewing options with the remote.

But, we don’t like to admit to ourselves that something is not brand, spanking new. That’s where euphemisms come into play: “gently-used,” “pre-owned” or “vintage” are terms which are used to soften the blow, and allow us to enjoy something that is, let’s face it, used.

And, sometimes, award-winning columnists go on vacation, and neglect their core task: producing and delivering award-winning columns, including fresh and engaging content. This is where Rule of Three finds itself this week - the entire staff has been vacationing; fortunately, the time-honored tradition of perpetrating the “Best of. . .” scam is available to us.

Given that this gap in the lineup was caused by travel, it seems appropriate to dust-off one of our previously-published travel-centric columns, and share it with you, in order that you may enjoy it once again. Please read responsibly, and enjoy. . .

The Glamour of Air Travel

Then. . .and now.

BILL SOUTHERN

AUG 28, 2021

Air travel today is a very different experience from the image airlines portrayed in the 1950’s and 1960’s, perhaps reflected in the above photo, which was unceremoniously lifted from an anonymous website, and published without securing permission from British Airways, or anyone else. Isn’t it nice to see some blokes, and their mates enjoying a delightful flight? Perhaps upon reaching their destination, they will fancy a bit of fish and chips, and then head off to the pub, there to watch a rousing match of football, whilst hoisting a pint (Ed. note: Please accept our sincerest apologies - the columnist is currently binge-watching a Netflix show entitled, Broadchurch, which is set in a small English village, and simply cannot help himself).

I recall traveling by air in the late 1960’s and 1970’s as a youth, with my family. Traveling on an airplane was a unique and formal experience, at least for us. My dad required that we dress in a sport coat and tie whenever we traveled by plane; he also insisted that we dress the same way whenever we visited his office in downtown Chicago, but that’s a separate issue.

On longer flights complete meals were served, TV-dinner style - I cannot recall ever seeing dinner being served on an airplane, family-style, as the above picture suggests. And, Champagne, and other booze, neatly tucked in the bottom-section of the cart - man, that’s living!

I’m sure that you can spot the missing component in this picture, as I have: that’s right, where are the cigarettes (or, fags, if we are to continue the English theme) dangling from everyone’s fingers? Perhaps they intend to light up after finishing dinner.

This scene is in sharp contrast to an airline trip I recently took. And, I preface my tale of woe with the acknowledgment that some of the unpleasantness I encountered might be the result of the ongoing pandemic. Nonetheless. . .

Our journey began at Pittsburgh International Airport, when we entered the “Economy” parking lot, where we intended to park our car for a few days while we traveled to Colorado, where I was to meet my new granddaughter for the very first time. No, I wasn’t trying to save the $2.00/day cost difference vs. the “Extended” parking lot - I simply veered left instead of right - it’s not terribly well-marked. After circling the lot for several minutes, we found a spot, and made our way to a shuttle-bus shelter. Inside that shelter was a sign which indicated that no shuttle-bus service existed from the “Economy” lot. Pushing the “service” button proved fruitless; we called customer service at the airport terminal, who confirmed that, yes, there was indeed no shuttle-bus service from the “Economy” lot. Which begs the existential question: If no bus arrives to retrieve two passengers from a shuttle-bus shelter, does it really exist?

Although we could see the terminal from our non-existent shuttle-bus shelter, it was a very hot and sunny afternoon (temperature in the 90’s), and it appeared to be a very long walk to reach the terminal. Plus, I was concerned that the terminal might simply be a mirage, such as one might encounter in the desert. No, Plan B should immediately be activated: reclaim our vehicle, and circle back around to the parking lot entrance, only this time veer right, into the “Extended” parking lot, and make our way to a (hopefully) existent shuttle-bus shelter, board the shuttle-bus, and find our way to the terminal.

Upon inserting the parking ticket into the machine at the parking lot exit, we were confronted with a demand for a $7.00 payment, and, given the services we had enjoyed thus far, found it difficult to justify that payment. Fortunately, there was an actual person manning the exit gate, and after explaining our circumstances to him, he graciously swiped his free-pass card, and let us move on.

Circling back around, and making the right veer this time, we ventured into the “Extended” parking lot, found a parking-space, and headed for the nearest shuttle-bus shelter. There, we encountered a fellow-traveler, a flight attendant, who indicated that she had been waiting for the shuttle-bus for about fifteen minutes. Not possessing her level of patience, we again called customer service at the airport terminal, who confirmed that, yes, there was shuttle-bus service from the “Economy” lot. After waiting another twenty minutes, Eureka! a shuttle-bus did arrive. The three of us piled into the bus, and joined the passengers already on board, including a man, likely in his 30’s, who loudly proclaimed to all on board that, although he never wore a mask (you know, that pesky global pandemic thing), he was wearing one now, because, if he didn’t he wouldn’t be allowed to travel to his destination. I didn’t point out to him that he wasn’t actually wearing the mask, inasmuch as it didn’t cover his nose in any way, shape, or form, because highlighting that fashion faux pas oftentimes will prompt, at a minimum, yelling and abusive language, and at times, actual fisticuffs.

Upon arriving at the terminal, we checked our bags, and navigated through airport security (yes, including holding our hands in the air, as if being held-up at gunpoint, and removing our shoes). We made our way to the gate, and settled-in as a tremendous thunderstorm swooped-in. I suppose the thunderstorm itself would have been fine, but it was the lightning which prompted a delay of an hour-and-a-half. I don’t take issue with that decision, although I feel badly for the passengers aboard the aircraft which had traveled all the way to Pittsburgh from somewhere, only to be encamped on the tarmac, a scant hundred feet from the terminal, for an hour-and-a-half - poor bastards!

Meanwhile, the floor-show inside the terminal included a young man, pacing back and forth, for the entire hour-and-a-half, earbuds firmly inserted, and clutching his cellphone, loudly recounting the events of his day to those on the other end of the phone. I don’t remember if we learned what he had for breakfast that morning, but I believe we absorbed virtually everything else about him. Admit it, you know the guy I’m talking about - I just hope that you’re not that guy, because I really hate that guy.

The flight itself did not include dinner of beef bourguignon, or whatever is being served in the picture above. A small bag of pretzels constituted dinner on this flight, supported by a beverage of your choice, from among four options: Coke, Diet Coke, 7-Up, or water. And, we were instructed many times by the flight attendants that we were not to remove our masks to ask for a specific beverage, but instead to hold up the number of fingers associated with each of the four choices (I know, I’m as dismayed as you are by the addition of the rogue, fourth option - three is preferred, as you know, but, honestly, which one would you have jettisoned?).

There was also on the flight, the obligatory guy afflicted with tuberculosis, or whooping cough, or bronchitis, who was encamped just a row or two behind us, and who coughed incessantly during the entire flight. Our flight did not feature the crying baby, or the obnoxious drunk, both staples of most flights these days, perhaps because there was no finger for alcohol, or formula offered by the flight attendants.

Upon arrival at the airport in Denver, we traveled by shuttle-bus to the car-rental location, a bus that was jam-packed with people, even as the hour was approaching midnight. That scenario prompted our two-pronged strategy: my wife would race inside to the car-rental desk, as soon as the bus stopped, while I leisurely gathered our bags and meandered inside when ready. It proved to be a winning strategy - hey, all’s fair in love and war. . .and car-rental lines.

Leaving the car-rental lot required us to provide our rental documents to a young lady, who spent ten minutes wandering around the car, presumably to identify and record pre-existing damage to the car. When finished with that task, she leaned-in the drivers-side window, and attempted to take a picture of the dashboard, perhaps to record the current mileage. She encountered problems snapping that picture, swore loudly at the device, and tossed a homophobic slur at it, for good measure. Eventually, she found her footing, completed the job, and sent us on our merry way. It was at that point that we were finally able to remove our masks, which had remained on, since boarding that “Extended” shuttle-bus in Pittsburgh, several hours earlier.

We had a delightful time with our new granddaughter, and her parents - there is plenty of photographic evidence of the young lady, an example of which I’m including here, because research shows that pictures of babies, and dogs tend to attract greater readership - enjoy!

A few days later, it was time to return to Pittsburgh. Checking the flight status before embarking for the airport revealed a two-and-a-half hour delay. The benefit to this delay was enabling me to have dinner with my daughter’s family before leaving. The downside was that the flight, which was originally scheduled to arrive in Pittsburgh after midnight, would not be arriving until 3:00 a.m.

I sat in a forward row in the airplane, next to a young, unaccompanied minor, sporting pink hair, and named, “Colin.” I know that was his name, because the flight attendants were quite solicitous of him during our flight, and he was wearing a large laminated badge on a chain around his neck. You don’t get that kind of attention if you’re simply headed to an Elks convention in Pittsburgh, which is another potential reason for sporting a laminated badge on a chain around your neck. At one point Colin asked me if I wanted to see a rock he had found in Colorado. I marveled over his find, and asked if it was quartz. “Nope,” he said, “amethyst.” What can I say? Rocks aren’t really my thing.

Touching down in Pittsburgh, around 3:00 a.m., I dreaded the chore of locating a shuttle-bus for the “Extended” lot at that time. I should have instead anticipated the half-hour delay in surfacing the bags from the plane at baggage claim - that one caught me by surprise. I mean, what other airplanes are these guys unloading at 3:00 a.m.?

Once I secured my bag, I wandered out to the shuttle-bus area, and a bus arrived within five minutes, and scooted me to the “Extended” lot, from which I quickly escaped. Thus end-eth my most recent experience of the glamour of air travel. I’m just glad that I didn’t wear a sport coat and tie for that.

Link to the originally-published piece on Substack. . .

Well, that’s that. We promise to be back next week with fresh, unrecycled content for you. And, thanks for not asking to use my toothbrush.

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