You have the crackpots that claim 5 milli-seconds of RF will fry your chestnuts off your frame...
Then you have the old maids that wouldn't know what something "up there" felt like if it had been rammed home attached to the front end of Mac Truck claiming they were molested by a blue-handed crew of minimum wage public servants (or contract playas) that are too stupid to get a job at Mickey Ds'...
And your lost luggage gets to its destination first, while you're still putting your under-roos back on after the full-body cav-search you had to go through 'cause you just decided that you to have a "humorous moment" with the undercover TSA agent that was standing in line behind you...
Hell, I'll drive or ride the AmTrack. I'd rather dodge some 20-something trying to text or take a chance that the train will stay on the track than get probed, poked, smoked, rammed, jammed or slammed in a small room of an overly-priced, glasss-encased, petri-dish of an airport. Hell, driving into that place should have given you the idea that you were going for the "Hershey-Highway Bend-Forward" dance when you first saw the pricing on the Hourly/Daily/Weekly Parking Rates...assuming of course, they were posted in an area where you had more that few milliseconds to actually READ what they were.
Really, the only way I'm flying is charter/private and someone else is paying. Otherwise, I choose my own level of discomfort.
And when you get right down to it, isn't THAT what it's all about?