My trip home...
I woke up at my usual ungodly hour and decided that it would be a good time to do laundry and things before leaving. I was fortunate in the fact that they do leave the laundry open at night. I cleaned the Dog House and made things spick and span so that anyone that breaks in while I am gone will not have a messy house to deal with. (It’s kinda like having clean underwear if you are in a car accident.)
The valley airport is definitely not the largest I have been in, but you would think so by how much they charge for food. The fukkerz want almost eight bucks for a sandwich in plastic wrap. I could get a better deal on the other side of the TSA gauntlet. I think it’s a scam. They put all the good places to eat before you get checked because no one in their right mind would want to go through that shit again. Some day I will remember that they are going to make me take off my shoes every time.
Waiting for the plane I met ‘The Sweating Man’. He broke into a sweat while on the phone to someone about getting his pants from the hotel where he left them. He blames the location of the closet for his forgetting them. Perhaps there is a relationship between his forgetting his pants and his sweating bullets. We shall never know. I imagine some demented scenario involving a prostitute and his paying her extra to stay and remove the fluid stains from the crotch, but I am sure you can make up things on your own.
The actual flight was pretty uneventful. There was an open seat next to me, making the standard Southwest Airlines ‘cattle car’ seating quite tolerable. I arrived in Houston with enough time to grab an affordable sandwich before getting in line to board the plane to Albuquerque.
Then things began to go downhill.
There is something about the way Southwest does their seating that brings out the competitive urge in people. Everyone is asking others in line, “What line is this? Is this the ‘A’ line? Is this the ‘B’ line?” They all begin shuffling and jockeying for position, trying to get the ‘best’ place in line.
What the hell does it matter? It’s ‘cattle car’ seating! No matter where you sit, it is going to suck! Get over it!
When I finally was herded into the plane, I saw that the back was still relatively empty. I made my way to the far back seat and took a window seat for the two-hour flight. “So far so good,” I thought.
I was wrong.
“The Sisters” arrived.
Next Post; “The Sisters.”
The valley airport is definitely not the largest I have been in, but you would think so by how much they charge for food. The fukkerz want almost eight bucks for a sandwich in plastic wrap. I could get a better deal on the other side of the TSA gauntlet. I think it’s a scam. They put all the good places to eat before you get checked because no one in their right mind would want to go through that shit again. Some day I will remember that they are going to make me take off my shoes every time.
Waiting for the plane I met ‘The Sweating Man’. He broke into a sweat while on the phone to someone about getting his pants from the hotel where he left them. He blames the location of the closet for his forgetting them. Perhaps there is a relationship between his forgetting his pants and his sweating bullets. We shall never know. I imagine some demented scenario involving a prostitute and his paying her extra to stay and remove the fluid stains from the crotch, but I am sure you can make up things on your own.
The actual flight was pretty uneventful. There was an open seat next to me, making the standard Southwest Airlines ‘cattle car’ seating quite tolerable. I arrived in Houston with enough time to grab an affordable sandwich before getting in line to board the plane to Albuquerque.
Then things began to go downhill.
There is something about the way Southwest does their seating that brings out the competitive urge in people. Everyone is asking others in line, “What line is this? Is this the ‘A’ line? Is this the ‘B’ line?” They all begin shuffling and jockeying for position, trying to get the ‘best’ place in line.
What the hell does it matter? It’s ‘cattle car’ seating! No matter where you sit, it is going to suck! Get over it!
When I finally was herded into the plane, I saw that the back was still relatively empty. I made my way to the far back seat and took a window seat for the two-hour flight. “So far so good,” I thought.
I was wrong.
“The Sisters” arrived.
Next Post; “The Sisters.”
posted by MizfiTroll at 7:28 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home