Fly American from Atlanta to Tulsa

Dearest esteemed wanderlu$t$, and esteemed I call you not for the thickness of your wallet but rather for the thickness of your travel-ambition, this is an open letter about the joys and potential pits of hurling your body through the air in a pressurized metal tube from the ever intermittently-awake Atlanta to Tulsa, the illustrious Emerald City of Oklahoma. Pray let us embark on this journey of reflection on the ins and outs of this uniquely human endeavour.

Let's begin with the astonishing moment you manage to find cheap flights. Not the proverbial needle-in-a-haystack but a genuine golden harp dropped from Jack's beanstalk right into your incredulous hands. Atlanta to Tulsa round trip for the price of a penthouse suite in a Monopoly game! Oh, dear traveler, how you chortle at your victory over the excesses of capitalism. You, my friend, are nothing less than the Indiana Jones of airfare arbitrage.

However, the sweet aroma of your triumph is quickly soured by a cruel twist in the tale. It’s called "Economy Class". You didn't even know seats that small were ethically allowed till you were wedged into one and your kneecaps introduced themselves to your nostrils. But none of it breaks your spirit. You experience Buddha's enlightenment that your physical form is the ultimate optical illusion and that true existence is beyond the flesh underneath the 200-pound passive-aggressive adversary next to you who vehemently believes that armrests are his birthright.

Do remember the unexpected inception of layovers, those damnable prison-wards of transient souls that bring Gulliver’s journey to its grounding halt. Indeed, pray why must we not indulge in a pit stop in the bustling city of No-Place-In-Particular, where an 80-minute sojourn will send you rabbit-hole deep into the land of vending machine coffee and overpriced, underflavored sandwiches.

However, this delightful mock-torture is interspersed with the joyous surprise of in-flight services. That overstuffed cabin trolley that snakes its way, amidst the symphony of baby cries and flight turbulence, feels nothing less than the gilded carriage of the Fairy Godmother. It brings forth a banquet featuring such luxuries as a Coke-can served without the can, and amuses-bouches wrapped so artfully in tin foil that you have taken three bites out of your meal before you realize you are actually chewing the layer of protection.

Landing, finally, feels nothing short than Neil Armstrong’s moon landing as the pilot navigates through the incomparable beauty of cumulonimbus clouds, suburban rooftops, and vast expanses of parking lots. You exit the aircraft as triumphant as a gladiator stepping out of the Colosseum, basking in the glorious applause of your fellow survivors.

Traveler extraordinaire, trust me when I say that the splendid journey from Atlanta to Tulsa is more than just a simple movement between two coordinates on Earth. It is a profound microcosm of the human experience of struggle, triumph, boredom, and fleeting moments of sublime delight. It is a sublime orchestra of randomness & routine, enacted 30,000 feet above the ground. So, pack your bags soon and remember, it's not about the destination. It's about the utterly human experience between two points on an airline route map.