Fly American from Phoenix to Carmel

Brace yourselves, thrill-seekers of the jet age, for the unparalleled epic adventure of traveling from Phoenix to Carmel, Arizona - an endeavour so staggeringly brief that one could feasibly achieve it in a couple of adrenaline-fuelled hours. This heart-stopping account of domestic flights introduces you to the unfathomable world of "Direct flights" and "Non-stop" travel, where the erosion of time is irrelevant, and your destination waits for you on the other side of a coffee and airport novel.

Flight duration, an esoteric concept in the modern travel lexicon, embodies an absurdity that warrants our satirical magnifying glass. What exactly are we meant to do with this curious piece of information, besides possibly calculate how many reruns of 'Friends' we can consume in-flight before we've touched down in Carmel? Nonetheless, every seasoned traveller knows to hold this nugget of wisdom dear, utilising it in a perpetual quest for time efficiency.

With such critical information at one's fingertips, the blinkered traveler gains the audacious gift of extra time—the luxury to mull over the existential choice of seating: Business Class or Economy Class. Millionaires in dreams only, most of us robustly endure the latter, deriving some perverse pleasure from the microscopic legroom, and the joy of chance encounters with the human variety known as 'The Seat Recliner'. Ah, but my future airborne companions, let us not forget the humble 'Premium Economy,' creeping into the spotlight like an ambitious understudy. Could this be the bridge between us, mere Economy mortals and the higher-echelon of Business Class demi-gods?

And so, armed with your chosen siege, let us now embark on a momentous rite of passage in air warfare—the booking. Verily, the process compares to navigating a labyrinth constructed by a Machiavellian genius who delights in torturing hapless travelers with convoluted online forms and capricious price changes. Best time to book? Some say Tuesday, others Saturday—yet who in this mortal sphere truly possesses such an esoteric secret? In truth, my valiant voyagers, this hidden knowledge lies as elusive as the Bermuda Triangle itself.

The shift of attention is then best moored to the critical issue of baggage allowance—an ordeal more fraught than a high-wire trapeze act over an active volcano. Luggage—a myriad of possessions representing our desperate grasp on familiarity, stacked with duty-free spirits to soften the in-flight existential crisis. Travel gurus chant the mantra of light packing, but let us face it, packing light is like eating just one Pringle—it defies human nature.

Become not merely a traveler, but ascend to the giddying heights of a frequent flyer, acquiring commendations and virtual badges in your grandiose quest for the free round-trip ticket. The bright lights of the Mileage Program draw you in with their promises of vague 'exclusive benefits,' and who among us can resist such siren calls? So, gather your points, travelers! Gather them like your journey depends on it—because, in a satirical twist of fate, it quite literally does.

Then, with a sigh of relief, the seat booked, the baggage delicately weighed, and the Miles collected, here comes the act of flying, perhaps the most prodigious anti-climax of the travel narrative. But fear it not, dear voyagers, for such is the comical charade of flights, reminding us to trek bravely in the face of tongue-in-cheek tumults, and to laugh in the wistful face of every satirical tragedy presented by our airborne odyssey.