Here it is - the time of year where we all hop in planes, trains and autos to travel around the great girth of America to visit our relatives and friends for the holiday season. Some people find themselves in near-therapy over this time of year, or they end up stressed out and withered, burning the candle at both ends. I can already tell that I’m going to be the latter of the two, because the very thought of traveling with all these people I’ve shared airline space with all year long, is tensing me like a Moroccan donkey, fully awaiting the crack of a fifteen-foot bullwhip.

The airlines have granted me a lot of miles this year, and many of them were endured on trips to St. Louis, where my lovely fiancée resides. Most of the trips were without incident, save for the 9-month-old who blasted his (or her?) version of heavy metal (aka: gas pain) tunes into my ear for 1500 miles back in July. Less than an hour after that flight landed, I secured a sleek MP3 player with headphones, which wards off most infantile screaming attacks. I highly recommend it.

In June, my sister Heather and I hopped on a flight to Indianapolis for a fun family reunion. Before we boarded, it was broadcasted throughout the terminal that we should seek food before we boarded, as there are no meals served on these flights anymore. Not even a sandwich. Not a piece of fruit. You like peanuts? You’re fine. Need real food? Not here. You need to hit the meal merchants in the terminal, we were informed.

So we both secured a couple burritos from some superfastmexicanfood place in the terminal. We’re talking burritos the size of your arm. Huge. Chock full of onions, peppers, spices, beans, and meat. Stinky burros. And later, when our plane got trapped on the tarmac for an “outbound waiting line that will be at least 15 minutes” according to the captain, we whipped out the goods, dropped the plastic trays in front of us, and started to chow down.

After I unwrapped the monster burro and took a few juicy bites, I noticed the lady across the aisle from me clamping her nose with her forefinger and thumb. I heard her say to her traveling companion: “God... It stinks... Like death.” Here it is, 10:00am, and we’re eating big ‘ol burritos on the tarmac that put forth a stench I can’t even imagine (since I was devouring it).

After I heard the lady complain, I gulped down that fat burro like I was in a blueberry pie-eating contest. It was pure energy. I wrapped up my foil, napkins, and used salsa cups, dumped them into the paper bag that they came in, swallowed the last bulge of burro, and took an immediate nap. My sister continued to eat her burrito at her own pace, which might have been stinky, but was tasty and necessary to her. I instantly became the “it wasn’t me” guy when I fell asleep.

On a late November trip to Las Vegas, I witnessed the incredible.

While sitting in seat 11C (the emergency exit row) I saw a young woman board the plan with a piece of luggage larger than anything I have ever seen hauled into a commercial craft. I could tell by the way she towed it down the aisle, that she wasn’t going to be the one to hoist it up into the overhead compartment. The monstrous thing bounced around and had to be tugged forcefully through objects like aircraft aluminum and human feet.

She stopped at the row behind me and took another gander at her ticket. “I’m here,” she announced. Fine. Then a young man helped her get that monstrosity of luggage into the overhead compartment.

It didn’t fit. Really. The thing wouldn’t fit. The ramming process began. BAM. BAM. BAM. This giant piece was eventually jammed into the small, overhead bin above my head and my luggage (in the same spot) was pulverized like soft cheese. The luggage compartment was forced shut, testing the ability of the plastic clasp that held it there.

The potential smoke, fumes, and raging blaze that Flight 717 to Las Vegas could become in an accident, was no longer a concern to me. It became clear that this woman’s luggage could end the life of every single person on this plane, from row 11 to the secured cockpit door if that little clasp gave way. This piece was more dangerous than a completely full drink cart, forced airborne in the cabin during heavy turbulence. I’m telling you, this beast was serious.

Maybe I’m overreacting, though. It’s probably not as serious as a fully-loaded morning burrito, as far as the rest of us are concerned. Best wishes to you all for a happy holiday season.

Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think about how much better my life would have been if I learned to play the piano.