Guess what? I’m back on a plane again! Yes, I’m on yet another flight back to the East Coast, and I’ll be honest — I wasn’t gonna “flog” it. First of all, I’m a bit tired; second of all, I thought I might do real work; third of all, there aren’t even any celebrities that I’m aware of on this place, and fourth of all, I just wasn’t sure if I could get myself into the flog mindset.
But then someone spilled soda on me, and I knew I had to start writing. Details forthcoming. Click after the jump and refresh for live updates…
Well, I’ve been in the air for about two hours and a half at this point. Or rather, I’ve been on the plane for that long. It had been a relatively smooth flying experience up until now. And then IT happened. Let me explain.
The morning started off bright and early with Sly fetching me at my residence and driving me all the way down to LAX where she deposited me at the terminal with a smile and a quiet grunt as she zipped off in search of soul-replenishing coffee. As I had previously printed out my boarding pass (exit row baby!), I proceeded directly to the security line where I was stopped momentarily on account of my luggage. The workers feared that it may have been too big, but I had packed efficiently (a.k.a. clearly forgotten some critical items), and I knew I’d be fine. I dropped my bag into the metal box, and lo and behold, it fit! With that first roadblock cleared, I moved along to the security line proper, which actually branched off in two different directions. Which path to take? Part of me wanted to veer left and attempt the alterna-security line (open only during heavy traffic), but I saw some jerks slide under the ropes and join that line, and for some reason, I felt it necessary to stay put and show those asses that the current line was in fact superior.
Turns out my gamble was a success for once. Almost as soon as I passed that point of no return when it would be simply impossible and/or embarrassing to retreat to the second line, my line zipped forward at a brisk pace. The other line? Didn’t move at all. Total vindication. How excellent.
Even better was that my jaunt through security was a total breeze. I was held up only by a homely woman in a sweatshirt who needed a brief frisking before venturing on to her departure gate. Once I had claimed my bags, I popped into Burger King for breakfast (some idiot had left a tater tot on the seat, and had my keen eyes not spotted it at the last second, I would have had an oily potato mess on my posterior), and then after I downed my Whopper with cheese (yes, that was my breakfast), I then waltzed over to my gate to find the flight just starting to board. Perfectly timed.
Yes, it was all going so well. That is, until I reached the jetway. As has become the case, I was stopped yet again by the nazi luggage spotter who requested that I slide my bag into yet another metal box. Listen, lady, if I could get this far, don’t you think the bag is clear for takeoff? Evidently not. No worries, I thought. I’ll just slide my luggage into the box and she will be so bowled over by the obvious ease in which it fits that she’ll wave me along with a shower of apologies.
WELL. I should have been so lucky. I placed the bag on the box, but thanks to some pockets on the front of the luggage, there was a snagging issue that required me to press in a flap so the bag could slide down properly. Any human being could see this, but as soon as this awful woman caught my hand reaching for the bag, she immediately bleated, “No! No! Don’t force it! You cannot force it! You must check it!”
“I’m not forcing it,” I protested. I then explained that there was merely a flap that had been caught, but this MONSTER was inconsolable. Even though the bag clearly fit within the box, and even though it slid out with ease, I was told that I must check it no matter what. This was ridiculous. But one cannot argue with these people, and so I had to suffer the frustration of once again parting ways with my carry-on (and then seeing much larger items getting stuffed into overhead bins above me. Not cool)
Still, despite this egregious carry-on situation, I was immediately put at ease once I took a seat in the roomy exit row. Comfort can go a long way to relieving stress, and I’m happy to report that my seat neighbor seems normal and cool. Yes, it looked to be a fine trip. Even the subpar entertainment options (some Alexis Bledel flick with Carol Burnett) couldn’t upset me. I was in such a pleasant mood that I decided I would refrain from a flight blog as I knew that I’d simply work myself up into a tizzy about something or another.
But then IT happened. The guy in front of me (who had already dropped one or two items throughout the course of the flight) full on tipped over his full can of Diet Pepsi. The infernal soda dropped to the ground and erupted with a fizzy explosion, effectively spraying my feet and laptop bag with what would soon become sticky cola residue. Not cool. Even worse, he made no effort to a) apologize, or b) swiftly address the situation. I suspect that he was asleep, which would explain his slow reaction time. Of course, now one must wonder how he could be so foolish to fall asleep with a tall, teetering can of soda perched dangerously untethered on the seatback tray in front of him. I mean, had this guy never heard of turbulence? Did he not think for a moment that the whole thing might just tumble off the tray if not carefully monitored? Clearly not because that’s exactly what had happened.
Nevertheless, the soda made a mess, and since the guy seemed in no hurry to clean it up or express remorse, I turned to the three flight attendants gabbing next to me and said loudly, “Could I have a NAPKIN PLEASE?” I almost added “I have to CLEAN UP THE SODA THAT JUST DESCENDED ON MY FEET AND PERSONAL ITEMS,” but I felt that would be pushing it. Maybe next time.
The point is, I’m not very pleased with the man in front of me. Not pleased at all.
As usual, the scents emerging from the galley are making me hungry. I don’t anticipate that I’ll be forking over $3 for the big cookie… but it’s a distinct possibility. Meanwhile, I’m over Illinois. How did that happen? Holy crap. Fresh baked cookie smell. Holy crap holy crap holy crap. Again, I must inquire to see if they’d cook cookie dough for me if I brought it on.
Why is it that when old women emerge from airplane bathrooms, they always look like they were just subjected to six hours of trapeze lessons. Their hair is sort of out of place, their gait is a bit stiff, and they have a look on their face that says “I don’t know WHY I just did that, and I don’t know WHO convinced me it was a good idea, but I will certainly NEVER do that again.” Of course, if there’s a baby nearby, they then smile and wave, which is sort of endearing. Old women are hilarious.
This flight is zipping by. I can’t believe the final beverage service just came by. I just started the damn flog!!! By the way, the bathroom was a total mess. It’s like a Slimer got loose in there. And yes, I did just make an outdated Ghostbusters reference.
Uh oh! Drama in the galley! One of the flight attendants (who I’ll call Trish) just bopped another flight attendant in the nose. Purely accidental, of course. Or was it? Only Trish knows!
I’m very hungry. And soda-spiller is chatting excessively. I’m not sure what he’s discussing, but I just heard him say something vis-a-vis Chinese New Years. Developing…
Soda-spiller is talking to a middle-aged man with frosted hair. Not a good look (at any age, really). I feel stressed.
My goodness, it’s frigid up in here. Maybe I should ask Trish for some hot cocoa. Alas, she seems to be enjoying a most ebullient gab session in the galley. They’ve pulled a curtain closed for greater privacy, but it doesn’t seem to be terribly effective. Meanwhile, I only have about 40 minutes left in flight. This thing flew by (no pun intended. Well, maybe a little intended.) This flog has really gone downhill since the soda incident.
Okay – time to pack up. I guess there really wasn’t much to write about after all. The soda thing really pissed me off — as did the luggage fiasco. Really the only thing going on now is Trish gossiping about dentists. I don’t know why she has so much dentist gossip, but she does, and she loves spreading it.