No Sour Grapes

I HAVE TO ADMIT that the prospect of Spring Break was the only thing keeping me going during the last few weeks of March. Once it was imminent though, I was faced with the difficult decision of what to do with my week off. Most of my friends were pushing Florida, and after slogging through my third miserable New England winter, the prospect of sun, surf, and bronzed bodies was enticing. The problem that remained, however, was how to get down there.

Flying came immediately to mind. After a little deliberation, though, it didn't sound that great. I wasn't enthusiastic about taking one of those commuter airlines that doesn't ask you to pay until you've left the ground. After the wheels are slowed, the stewardess comes by looking for your fare and for a little contribution to the Incompetent Pilots Relief Fund.

Stewardesses are never very soothing anyway. Who are they trying to kid with that little spiel on takeoff about safety exits and all that crap? "In the unlikely event that we have to ditch the aircraft over water, your seat cushion will act as a floatation device." First off, if it's so damn unlikely that we're going to crash, why bother telling us about it? And a floatation device? Great, you're crashing into the water at 600 miles per hour--all you need is a surfboard.

The concept behind seatbelts also bugs me. You're falling to earth from 30,000 feet and you expect a seatbelt to save your life? The only good thing that they do is make it easier for the rescue people to find your body. "Yup, there he is, 27A, sucker had his seatbelt on." If it's going to be your last chance to piss someone off, you might as well spread your body all over the place.

Also, flying has become much more dangerous ever since the Russians found out about our 747 spy-planes. It's hard to get anything past the Russians nowadays. It's really amazing that they're not onto our Trailways spy-buses yet.

No, airplanes were definitely out of the picture. Then, one of my friends suggested renting a car and driving down. "It'll be fun--three days down, three days up, we'll take turns driving!" Great, vacation's only a week long. That would give you enough time to stop the car, get out, and get a 98 degree sunburn. Your back would be bleeding by the time you backtracked through Georgia.

You also had to think about all the scenic spots that you would be driving through on your way there. In Baltimore for instance, they've taken three downtown blocks, picked up the trash, planted a few trees and called it urban redevelopment. No need for travelers checks here. In Kentucky they have caves. "Come see the fantastic Frankfort caves!" Personally, I can't think of a better way to spend my vacation than crawling around in a cave. Signs everywhere tell you to watch out for the scorpions. Someone in the back of the tour group always reminds you, "They can't kill you, you know. They only make you violently ill for three days." Great, put five or six on my arm, please! I've seen Bonanza and Big Valley, I know what scorpions can do.

Truth be told, though, there are a lot of roadside attractions. Every thirty feet there's a sign saying "last chance for pecans/plums/watermelons for 100 yards! "Pull over quick! Gotta get me some of those pecans. By the time you're back in Boston you'll be addicted to the things. Fortunately, this state probably has pecan dependency clinics for college-age addicts.

So, on second thought, I decided to stay here. It would be relaxing and quiet with everyone gone. Chance to catch up on some reading. Get to know Boston better.

And not a word about suntans.