“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…”

I’ve had the theme song from Gilligan’s Island playing in my head ever since I stepped off the plane in Orlando last night. I’m in Florida for my bi-annual trip to shoot photos and gather content for the next issue of the magazine. This year is a little different because I was traveling from the west coast instead of Toronto which makes for a 12 hour day or travel instead of 4 or 5.

The day started at 8 AM leaving on the bus from Whistler to the Vancouver airport. I’ve been up and down the Sea-to-Sky highway hundreds of times and I’m sure I could drive it almost blindfolded. The same could not be said for the bus driver. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I was stuck at the back of the crowded bus or his sheer lack of driving skills, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more car-sick in my life. I’m sure my face was a lovely shade of green when I got off at the airport, so much so that I had to sit outside for a while taking in the fresh air.

After regaining a normal skin tone, I checked in at the Delta counter without incident and sailed past customs and security. I find it kind of odd that some days I get my camera bag thoroughly searched while other times they don’t even bat an eyelash.  I guess I went through when the boss was off getting a coffee. The Vancouver airport itself is amazing; never crowded, cool places to eat and great views of the Coast Mountains. Possibly the best feature is the free wireless found everywhere in the terminal. Since no one flies direct to Orlando, my one stop over was in Salt Lake City. The first leg of the journey was quick and painless. I even ended up with an empty seat beside me; stoked.

The Salt Lake City airport was the exact opposite of Vancouver; crowded, stuffy, terrible fast food restaurants and wireless you have to pay out the ass for. I should back up a little and mention that when I checked in back in Vancouver, the agents told me they could only get me a dreaded middle seat for my 4.5 hour flight from Salt Lake to Orlando. At the time, I wasn’t too stressed; I’ve been able to sweet-talk the gate agent’s dozens of time in the past to get at least an aisle seat. As I got to the gate, there was already a line of 20 people waiting to talk to the agent; not a good sign. I was as friendly with the gate agent as humanly possible, but still no love. They took my name and said they would call me if they found something.  As I sat down in the gate area, the situation wasn’t looking too good; most of the flight was going to be filled with kids under 10 and their overweight parents. Another visit to the gate agent yielded nothing, even after trying to bribe her.

My flight in no way resembled this photo.

As I boarded the plane and I squeezed my 6’3” frame into my seat designed for someone who stands 5'5" I could only hope for decent row buddies. I’ve had friends tell me stories of lucking out and getting hot girls/models/Playmates seated beside them. Honestly I’m not buying any of it, I’m calling BS. It turned out that an older, over weight gentleman was sitting to my left while and middle-aged lady took the seat on the right. Definitely no models in this bunch, but they seemed pretty harmless and non-offensive at first. I should also note nearly every seat in the surrounding area was filled with kids.

 I wish

This is when things started to go south in what I can only describe as a beyond-belief-comedically-horrendous experience. Turns out the harmless looking lady to my left brought her own food. In what world is a cup of hot Cream of Broccoli/Cauliflower soup deemed as acceptable food to bring on a plane? The sheer odor had me reeling and brought back the pale-green skin tone I’d experienced earlier in the day. Not stopping at the soup, her dinner of champions also included a bag of Cheetos and peanut M&M’s. To finish off the meal, she pulled out a pastrami sandwich. Turns out she must have been on the Atkins diet because she proceeded to pull the chuck of meat out the sandwich, discard the bread and eat it with her hands; I seriously couldn’t make this up even if I tried.

Why on earth would anybody bring this on a plane?

As I was trying to recover from the offensive soup and chunk of meat odor, another equally offensive stench began to filter through the cabin. After a quick glance around, I realized with horror that Cowboy Joe sitting behind me had just cracked into his bag of smoky beef jerky. This really can’t be happening, can it? Now, I never drink on planes, but it was clear it was going to be the only way out of this one. I coughed up $14 for a couple of vodka-sodas, but in reality I probably would have forked over $100 just to numb myself from this unbearable situation.

Once the offensive food odors began to subside, it was time for the screaming kids to break into full chorus. Now, usually I’m not one to complain about kids on planes; I’m not a parent so who am I to judge? But when the screaming goes unchecked for the entire flight by parents who are apparently to clueless to realize that they’re in public and severely cramped quarters, I really have no patience at all. My iPod cranked to full volume was the only cure for this ailment. At the end of the flight when the stewardess came around to ask if I would remove my headphones for landing, I refused, explaining that I shouldn’t have to endure this kind of aural torture. I think she understood because she just nodded and left me alone.

Imagine this for 4 hours at a range of 5 feet away.

I’d also like to give a shout out the lady sitting in front of me. Your seat wouldn’t recline because my knees were jammed into your seat back, but really, thanks for continuously trying to recline every couple of minutes. And if I could give you one little tidbit of parenting advice I’d probably suggest that you shouldn’t watch Hugh Hefner’s new reality TV series, The Girls Next Door, with your 4 and 6-year-old sons. I’m sure they will be asking you about the topless, foxy boxing scene for a few years. News flash: your kids are probably screwed for life.

Completely acceptable viewing for a 4-year old.

So I survived my hell flight and now I’m staying with my good buddy, Pat Panakos, out at The Projects. I’ve got a busy week planned so stay tuned for more updates coming soon.