Fly American from Norfolk to Los Angeles

If it is your plan to navigate the towering peaks of loneliness that define the contemporary airline industry, particularly when stuck on a round-trip from Norfolk, VA to Los Angeles, CA courtesy of American, then this succinctly clinical guide would serve as a useful companion. The unique (but not rare) flight experience delivered on this path is a delightful cocktail of majestic inflight services and a careless distribution of human dignity. But oh! what a vast culinary scope the inflight menu provides, and marvelous is the baggage allowance that greets you on this wondrous journey.

Nothing quite says "journey" like embarking on a direct flight across thousands of miles in what could be described as an airborne sardine tin. The idea of stuffing a horde of human beings into a pressurized metal tube and flinging them across the sky can only be likened to the provocative thrill of a red-eye flight - a euphemistic term most likely coined by an unsuspecting sleep researcher, unaware of the nightmarish voyage that it would come to symbolize.

These "red-eye" flights are conveniently scheduled to coincide with natural circadian rhythm demands, thumbing its nose at what we know of sleep's necessary role in sustaining performance, memory consolidation, and overall well-being. The fortunate among us, perched precariously in first-class, shielded from the rest of us plebeians by a flimsy curtain, may manage to catch some half-decent shut-eye amidst the chaos. The rest? How well they fare is anyone's guess. Blessings to them.

Departing from Norfolk, blessed with a birdsong-like name that only intensifies our irony, one may feel rather indulged by the myriad of onboard services. Yet, much like the ubiquitous "chicken or fish" question, choices are only as good as they are palatable. Is the delight of airline food the result of seasoned chefs experimenting with zero gravity, or the mere trickery of our altitude-confused palates? Remember, Newton’s law of universal gravitation was not intended to apply to the seasoning on in-flight pasta.

Now, onto the obvious pièce de résistance of American travel: baggage allowance. Like the battered scales of justice, the precarious balance between "take enough; not too much" teeter-totters with each ruthless gram of an overweight suitcase. Involve yourself if you dare, in the peculiar blend of despair and elation that arises from a successful negotiation with an airline clerk over an 0.01 kg suitcase overweight. Setting this to one side, in this increasingly digital age, why haven't airlines adopted digital baggage yet? Surely we have mastered the precise weighting of embarrassment and disappointment to fit in even the smallest of overhead compartments?

Stuck in the middle of this metaphorical "worst of both worlds" scenario, remember always the omnipresent mileage program. Promising connective flights for the price of little more than your entire flying history, your privacy, and perhaps the first-ever picture of your newly born child. Ponder then, on the surveillance society that exists at 35,000 feet and the price you are potentially willing to pay for a 'free' one-way to Toledo. One can only hope that the threat of low-altitude surveillance pales to the allure of high-altitude savings. For indeed, the freedom to fly is only as good as the rewards it reaps—and perhaps the size of your willingness to participate in these frequent flyer programs.

Travel, my dear friends, redefines the quintessential human experience, enhancing our perspective and concurrently humbling our existence. And while the course of the flight may not always be smooth, resilience builds character. And indeed, where else are you going to get such a worldly view of the infinite abyss below?