Given its history of inept leadership, US Airways could do a lot worse than giving me a shot. If I were in charge, these passengers would be barred from all flights:

Carry-on bag abusers. This includes pretty much the entire flying public, so my no-nonsense ban might mean empty flights in the short run. But drastic measures are needed. On a recent flight, departure was delayed because the plane weighed too much, which wasn't reassuring. They decided to dump fuel instead of people, also not reassuring. It could be we had a substantial number of fat people aboard, but I suspect the carry-on abusers were at least partly to blame.

Here's how the game goes. At departure, the gate attendant dutifully announces the policy: one carry-on and one purse or brief case. Then he takes boarding passes from people who look like they're headed up Mount Everest, assuming you could wheel your gear up there -- shoulder bags, backpacks, luggage on wheels. Taken together, these carry-ons might well weigh more than a checked bag.

The spread of carry-on abuse is understandable. Waiting at baggage claim, at least in Pittsburgh, can take as long if not longer than the flight itself. Still, the rules are the rules.

Catholic by training, I check my extra carry-on bag for fear of getting my knuckles rapped or worse. Even with one bag, I often have performance anxiety, jamming it in as quickly as possible. But the carry-on abusers are as cool as can be. They make an elaborate show of strolling about the cabin, looking for some place to force a piece of luggage no smaller than a side of beef into the overhead compartment. In addition to holding up passengers lined up behind, they have a shot at irking those already seated, by making a crystal vase or a straw hat that much more compact as they jam in their gear.

Drunks. Somewhere out there is an unsung heroine, a woman with the look of a kindly New England school marm, who sat across from me. I first noticed her when a flight attendant came to speak to the man in her row, who was acting erratically, even by airline standards. Apparently, even though it was midday, he'd gotten a big jump on happy hour. The woman surreptitiously summoned the flight attendant, who, with firm insistence, led the man off the plane, as he spewed f-words. The heroine got a free $5 headset and no doubt all the pretzels she could eat. I would have given her a free flight, considering the ordeal she'd spared us and the money the airline saved by not having to reroute to Bangor or Guantanamo. Would a sobriety test at security be more useful than shoe removal?

Exhibitionist parents. Usually, they are mothers who like to demonstrate their cutting-edge parenting skills by allowing their kids to carry on throughout the flight on the grounds that it's good for children to express their feelings. We get to benefit from the wisdom of their wise, calm ways in between ear-splitting eruptions from the child. If an older child is kicking the back of your seat, you might, on rare occasions, hear mom suggest to junior that he cut it out, but it's only a suggestion. I'd put a good old-fashioned nun on every flight to enforce discipline.

First-class showoffs. Who of us hasn't had the humiliating experience of being forced to wait in the first-class aisle as the carry-on abuser leisurely goes through his virtuoso performance up ahead? Invariably, some guy is on his cell phone telling a loved one that he -- get this -- is on the plane in first class and has just ordered a second Bloody Mary! You have the urge to "accidentally" swing sideways and clip him with your ingot-filled backpack, but, unfortunately, the seats are comfortably out of reach. The only way to strike a blow for the common man is to make a run at the first-class bathroom midflight.

Nonstop talkers. These would be the seat mates who fail to appreciate the value of silence every now and then during that coast-to-coast flight. This is how it's supposed to work under the Geneva Conventions: You say hello to the stranger next to you, maybe exchange a pleasantry or two. If you hit it off, fine. But back off if you sense your seat mate would prefer to be alone with her thoughts, such as, Will this plane get blown up? Of course, compulsive chatterers, who may be fighting their own visions of getting blown up, have no ability to sense whether you want conversation, so you're going to have to hang on until I'm put in charge.