A little heavy reading for the flight

Last Friday morning—and by "morning" I mean that period of time before the sun has actually crept above the horizon but after point where the darkness is still called "night"—I was packing up my carry-on for a flight. I had intend to include the little lap desk on which I typically set the laptop when it's actually on my lap. It has a flat top and a bean-bag-like bottom. However, the tiny bean-bag thingies were spilling out when it was tipped on its edge, and at that moment this was infuriating me.

It wasn't that the item was super-expensive, nor was it even unusable when laid flat for its normal functioning; it was merely something that couldn't be packed without the tiny Styrofoam (or whatever they are made of) balls spilling out. Still, I fancied the notion of using the laptop during my trip (perhaps on the plane, but also at my destination) and I prefer to have something between my legs and the ever-warming bottom of the computer. And it appeared that would not be possible.

Having gotten less than five hours of sleep probably wasn't helping my reaction.

It wasn't that the situation was all that dire, of course. It was merely another instance where having a little thing like being able to have an otherwise insignificant detail go my way was thwarted, and given how many big things outside my control don't seem to quite go my way, it's just kind of nice to have some of the little things go right. Yes, it is completely transferring frustration from larger issues to these unrelated moments, but that awareness doesn't make it any less frustrating in those moments; it just makes it seem ridiculous to appear so frustrated over such tiny details.

So the little lap desk had to be left behind.

We got in the car and drove to LAX. At that hour traffic was a non-issue. I waited maybe five minutes at the curbside check-in to have my suitcase taken care of. And even though the line for the security checkpoint wrapped outside the building, it still took less than fifteen minutes. The gate for my plane even proved to be right next to the Burger King, where I was able to get some overpriced breakfast sandwich with only a small wait (unlike every coffee place I'd passed on my way down the terminal). There was even a table available in the restaurant area where I could eat my food and look at The Onion, all within earshot of the announcements for my gate.

I didn't rush when I heard the call that the plane was boarding. I finished my drink, got my stuff together, and went to the restroom. By the time I got to the gate there was no line at all. I strode down the hallway to the plane door and made my way to my row. I had the window seat. No one was already seated in the aisle seat next to it, so I didn't have to crawl over anyone to sit. There was plenty of room in the overhead compartment, although all I was putting up there was my coat.

I sat and pulled out my copy of America: The Book, which I got a couple years ago as a gift but hadn't read very much of. (It's the hardcover, and too large for carrying on my commute to work, which is where I tend to do most of my reading.) Shortly thereafter I heard the door to the plane latched, and the seat next to me was still unoccupied, so it appeared I'd have unobstructed access to the aisle and the option to put my bag under the seat next to me, leaving more leg room for me during the flight.

Yes, it was all going pretty well. A lot of little details had gone in my favor. Still, the lap desk for the laptop remained at home. I kept reading America: The Book.

The nearly lap-size, hardcover American: The Book.

Which proved to be a reasonable substitute for the item that was leaking little balls. As you may have guessed, it is on what the laptop was set as I typed the initial draft of this.

~

Yes, it all worked out in the end, and much better than I had reason to expect. I concede that fate more than smiled upon me, even though it didn't seem like that four hours earlier when I was packing.

Before dawn.