I’m sitting here in Lambert International Airport in St. Louis agonizing through the insufferable process of flying home to Orlando. I actually remember the day when it was fun to fly. Not anymore.

I have to be in Pennsylvania later this summer. Instead of flying, I’ve decided to drive. By the time I get to the Orlando International Airport two hours early for a flight that is bound to be late, I could be in Jacksonville.

By the time the flight actually leaves (if it actually leaves at all), I can be to the Georgia border. By the time the flight connects to my first airport, I can be almost to South Carolina. By the time I get on the connecting flight (if it hasn’t left without me), I can be to the North Carolina line.

Mind you, nearly ten hours have passed. By the time I land in Pennsylvania, I can be somewhere along the Atlantic Coast with just a couple more hours to go.

All of this assumes that I don’t do my normal stop at every single rest area on I-95. To be fair, there ain’t one I haven’t visited yet, so why should I break the trend. But at least I can go to the potty at my own leisure.

On the other hand, if I was on an airplane, I’d have to wait until the flight attendant says “okay folks, you can go to go the potty,” regardless of how much pain I’m suffering.

Why do I bother to fly? I’ll never know. First of all, if you fly some airlines you have to pay for every bag you check. Sure, you got a discount ticket, but the bag fare is almost as much as the ticket. And don’t forget those lovely airport taxes which apply to every airport you stop at along the way. And trust me, you’ll stop. Nobody flies direct anymore. The old Piedmont Air Line used to stop five times between Orlando and New York.

When Eastern was in business, I could swear they wouldn’t leave until they had a full plane. If every seat wasn’t full, we’re not flying today. Sorry folks.

Oh yeah, you had better have logged on 24 hours earlier to beg for a seat or you’ll get the dreaded middle seat. Some carriers won’t let you get seats so you have to log on to get a permission slip to stand in line to fight for a seat once you’re on board. God help you if you don’t get on the computer within ten seconds of the allowed check-in time. You’ve never seen so many slots to stand in line get filled so quickly.

I told my wife we should take one of my beautiful granddaughters on every trip. At least families with kids get first crack at the herd call. I can’t wait until I really get to be a geezer. They let the elderly and disabled beat the rush as well.

I’ve broken my leg playing football and my foot fighting a fire years ago so I have these wonderful “clip-on” casts. If my wife wasn’t so honest, I’d take that sucker along with me on every flight. It’s a pain in the hind side being married to an honest woman.

Once on board, I look for an aisle seat so I can get up anytime I want to go to the potty. Getting old is a real pain in the bladder, if you get my drift. When I’m flying by myself, I look for the row that has the biggest, fattest human being in the window seat. I grab the aisle seat. Why? Every poor sucker boarding doesn’t want to be mashed between two chubbettes. It’s a deterrent, if you will.

But as luck has it, the plane is full and the last guy to get on board is even bigger than yours truly and the tub of lard sitting in the window seat. As porky ambers down the aisle sweating profusely with a triple Whopper (with extra onions) in hand, I know I’m doomed. I look over my shoulder and sadly see that the boat is full.

Sure enough, he plops down in the middle seat and tries to cram his oversized luggage into the overhead bin, which is already packed with the illegal carry-on luggage from the other porker at the window. THAT’S the luggage for which they should charge you. Checked bags ought to be free; and unchecked bags should pay $25 each.

When our flight finally lands several hours late in Pennsylvania, I’ll be angry, frustrated and hungry because I couldn’t even buy a meal on board. I remember the day when I could order a shrimp cocktail on Delta. Not anymore. And God help you if you try to pay with cash nowadays. They only want your credit card.

Now you know why I plan to drive to Pennsylvania. I could practically walk it quicker, not to mention I then have to rent a car when I get there. Ain’t flying wonderful?