Because I lack even some of the most basic skills and general accoutrements of the well-traveled person, I feel I would be a real fraud if I called myself a jetsetter. Even though I've logged my share of miles flying between San Francisco and Los Angeles at least once a month for over two years--and that's not counting the stateside and International travel of the vacation variety--I'm still a messy, disorganized, exceedingly non-glamorous traveler, a regular Julia Larwood* of the friendly skies. I always get to the airport with barely a second to spare, dragging along multiple bags in various shapes, colors, and states of disrepair. If anything I look more like a bag lady than a world traveler. But this month something exciting is happening. I'm flying down to LAX on Virgin America instead of Southwest and I'll be writing an article on the experience. Virgin is ushering in a new era of domestic travel and, if not quite a return to the glamorous heyday of flight, at least they'll actually be serving something besides peanuts (and that's just one of many fine amenities). So in advance of this assignment, I'm going to try and morph into the great traveler I know I can be. Hey, maybe I'll even spring for a new suitcase and matching carry-on. We'll see...
*Sarah Cauldwell wrote four clever mysteries narrated by the ambiguous Professor Hilary Tamar. Julia Larwood is one of her characters.
I always get to the airport with barely a second to spare, dragging along multiple bags in various shapes, colors, and states of disrepair.
That sounds exactly like a like a real world traveler to me.
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