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rriany surly sardines, knees and elbows banging seats, luggage, walls and each other while elevator music is piped in to drown out the screaming babies.
Most of the passengers wear that hard grim look of hopeless frustration that comes with modern air travel. Inconvenience, discomfort and (fj^lay have become accepted as the norm as we ride the cattle car from hell down to Atlanta.
Since I am the largest person on the flight, naturally 1 dm given the smallest seat, the one in the middle by the bulkhead. Now I get to find out what being in a straitjacket is like. But it brings to mind a happier trip 1 once took', t: In the early sixties, back in my beatnik years, I was stranded in a desert in Mexico while hitchhiking down to Puerto Vallarta. (I ended up in Acapulco, but that is another story.) -» Anyhow, rides were getting scarce so I hopped aboard an ancient bus that was packed .to the roof with passengers. .Arfter a few miles we heard a 'loud “clunk” followed by a ;i5uder “kerplonk” as the •transmission fell off onto the ;«$ghway. We all got off and fjraited on the roasting roadfalde for the next bus to come 'along. tt* It arrived an hour and a Jmlf later. Even though it was ►already full, we clambered on; {•fcrrying suitcases, children, ££an$ equipment, and bags of ijiome cooked burritos and [enchiladas. I would reckon ItJhere were at least 100 souls JeifldHheir belongings on that tjiittle airless jerry rigged vehicle which would comfortably 'S$at maybe 40. But we rattled ►jaerrily along and the chatter |ef rural Spanish became a
[fcesmerizing melody of the IXpad.
. When we came to a village -a few people got off and I saw .V small opening near a win:
" See JONES, Page A8
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