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After my two flights to Anaheim, I’ve remembered why flying has lost its charm. Some of my fellow passengers were raised in a barn. 

Too many people brought two bags per passenger on board the airplane. I wish the gate agents would make these folks check that extra bag.

The graying baby boomer sitting in front of me kept bouncing against the back of his seat, hoping he would get another inch of recline. He ended up with a sore back.

The large woman behind me used my headrest to settle herself in and pull herself out of her seat. That hairy thing that she felt on the headrest was my ponytail. No apologies offered, either. 

When the plane gets to the gate, I usually sit in my window seat and wait for the scrum to dissolve. It’s fun watching the other passengers stand up, stomp around, and wrestle each other to find their bags.