Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Thoughts En Route

You know how on a flight you always secretly hope to end up sitting next to some amazingly interesting and attractive person? And then you’ll have some sort of awkward smiling introduction disguised as an apology because you accidentally on purpose bumped his/her elbow. Which is of course an offense that merits an effusive apology. Which of course leads to meaningful conversation and a lifelong friendship...

(Jeezus these seats are small. Not that I really need a lot of space. But Damn it’s tight… And if the guy in front of me does not settle the hell down I may just have to go medieval on his ass.)

Anyway, I never sit next to that person. I always sit next to the quietly awkward businessman who was too cheap to fly business class. And in this case apparently someone’s grandmother too.

(My God. They Flight Attendants are presenting the safety features in PERFECT unison.)

I am always amazed when the same people who were in the check-in line with me keep turning up near me in security and sometimes even at the gate! And then when they get on the same plane as me, that’s when it gets really weird. I begin to get the notion that we are forming some kind of unspoken bond, like a brotherhood or the family of comrades that forms in times of trouble. We stand together in the face of delays and cancellations, our shock and appall bringing us ever closer. Until I remember that the only reason that we keep ending up in the same place in the airport is because we are on the same flight. The fact that we check in at the same place and are on the same plane is not some amazing cosmic coincidence. Which is, of course, far less interesting.

The food looks really gross. (Surprise, surprise) I have already eaten the meal I packed for myself (Surprise, surprise.) Even the cake, even though I tried to save it. I tentatively poked at the mashed potatoes because they looked rather… hard. I was right. Apparently this offends awkward business man. He is probably looking forward to his mashed potatoes.

...and yet I ate the food anyway...

If this is an international flight, can I order alcohol yet? I only have Euros on me, no pounds, so I can’t buy myself a drink during my two over layover in London. Which figures. I wonder if I’ll survive the two hours…

Don’t you hate it when you are sitting by the window and your seat buddies are sleeping and you REALLY have to get up? Yea, Me too.

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