Air travel is not my favorite thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not my most hated thing. My most hated thing is slow internet. But air travel is up there.

I am not afraid to fly, it’s waiting in lines I don’t like. The airline even recommends that you arrive two hours in advance so you will already be in line when they announce that your flight has been delayed.

Also, I’m not crazy about passengers who snore. I just finished a flight where the man next to me admitted beforehand that he snored.

“I’m just gonna give you fair warning,” he said. “I snore really loud.”

What was I supposed to say? Mazel tov? Should I have thanked him for this information?

The man beside me did indeed snore. So I wore headphones to listen to music. But there was a problem. Apparently, my cell phone was only able to access one song during the flight, which was “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” I have no idea how this song made it onto my phone.

Thus, I had two options: I could either turn off Meat Loaf and listen to the hyperventilating grizzly bear beside me. Or, I could do something that would cause an air marshall to subdue me.

When we reached Atlanta, I had to go to the bathroom, and I had only fifteen minutes to catch my connecting flight. There was a line for the men’s room about the size of a rural school district.

“You know why we’re waiting in line?” the man ahead of me said.

“No.”

“Because there are only two bathrooms in service in the entire airport.”

Men in line were gyrating, pumping their legs, groping themselves, wincing in pain. A four-year-old boy had to go so bad that his father marched him into the bathroom and held him up to the sink. The kid did his best to miss the mirror.

After the bathroom, I sprinted to catch the airport rail link to my connecting flight. It was a crowded train. There was nothing to hold onto, and these trains go very fast—I was jolted off my feet and fell backward onto a man who was eating what appeared to be tortilla soup.

When I reached my gate, I was out of breath. I thought I was late, but I wasn’t. There was a crowd of 16,000 passengers waiting in another line. A businessman in line looked at me, wore a flat look, and said, “Delayed.”

When we boarded, people were storing bags in overhead compartments. One woman tried to fit her bag, but it wasn’t working inasmuch as her bag was about the size of a Fiat.

The flight attendant told her she would have to check her bag, and the woman started yelling.

“NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” The lady got into a screaming match with the airline attendant, using foul language. Everyone was horrified.

This lady sat next to me.

Before takeoff, I looked out the window and tried to disappear. I noticed fluid leaking from a jet engine on my side. It was a very crucial-looking, greenish fluid, making a puddle on the tarmac. A man wearing a uniform inspected the leak, which was really spewing. He stared at the puddle, then gave the “thumbs up” sign to the pilot.

And we took off.

The woman placed an eye mask over her face. She said, “Just a fair warning, sweetie, I snore.”

I don’t ever want to hear Meat Loaf again.