First comes the ticket.  All I can tell by reading it is that someone named Glardon Mr. D is leaving CMH at 6:50 a.m. and arriving in MDW at 6:55 a.m.   At least it’s a non-stop flight.  Something I learned years ago is, there are only three things you have to do in life … die, pay taxes, and change planes in Atlanta.

There’s a box on the ticket marked "equipment."   That’s the kind of plane I’ll be flying on.  I had hoped to see B747, but instead, mine reads C150.  I think that means I have to spin the propeller to get it started.

Then comes check-in, "at least one hour prior to departure." That’s so the airport can empty your wallet for donut and a cup of coffee.  I always kiss my luggage goodbye, and chuckle as the agent attaches a tag that reads MDW.   This coding system is used so the baggage handler in Guatemala (who doesn’t read English) knows where to send my luggage after he’s removed everything of value.

The last time I flew to MDW, I had specifically asked for a window seat on a real jet.  At check-in, I knew I had been taken.  As the agent assigned me to seat 2B, I politely reminded him that I was supposed to have a window seat.  He smiled one of those "Oh, no one told you?" smiles, and assured me that 2B was indeed a window seat.  On this plane, they all were.

Every time I fly, I read the passenger information card.   They’re really amusing.  They tell you that if the plane goes into a nosedive immediately following a loud explosion, you should take the oxygen mask nearest you, and "breathe normally."  They tell you that, after the plane has crashed, you should "proceed calmly" toward the nearest exit.  Chances are the entire plane will be one large exit.

My favorite, though, was on a Continental commuter plane.  After a long advisory on how to operate the emergency exits, it finished with "If you cannot read these instructions, please ask a flight attendant for assistance."  If that doesn’t scare you, think about who wrote the Aircraft Operating Instructions.