Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

It’s the day before Thanksgiving, often noted as the most busily trafficked day of the year. I’m jetting from Michigan to Colorado, by way of Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. It’s an imposing sight. People running, luggage tagging along. Fast food vendors hustling, cash registers trying to keep up. Overhead voices calling Mr. Denaka, Ms. Smith, and reminding us not to leave our luggage unattended.

I’m on overload, and I wonder why I subject myself to this ritual.

Well, I guess it isn’t about airline travel; it’s about getting there and being with family. It’s about pushing myself into limbo as I maneuver airline security lines and tight seats and no meals, so that I can spend Thanksgiving with those who mean the most to me.

Time was when airline travel was relaxing, special, a class unto itself. But that era went out with hostile takeovers, September 11, and bankruptcy filings. Today, you need to have eaten before you get on a plane. You need to empty your bladder too, because the pilot may or may not turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign. You need to be skinny, docile, and patient. It also helps if you are white, American-born, female, and act dumb.

I can be all of these things, although acting dumb takes special consideration. I do it because it suits my needs. It’s a strategy, not a way of life.

I don’t know where the future of airline travel lies, but I am becoming more and more disenchanted. And, my disenchantment is based on how I am treated today, here in the present. It’s as if I am a sardine seeking admission to the next available tin can. Believe me, I want to be treated as the unique sardine that I am.