Went to Florida recently. Got bored on the plane(s) on the way...so I started documenting the flight. Here ya go.
I'm on a plane from Phoenix headed to Atlanta where I'll then board another plane to Orlando. The signs on the outside of the plane, inside of the plane, as well as the in-flight pamphlets, assure me that free wi-fi is available. I want to check Facebook and Twitter (not sure what I'm actually looking for), but can't connect. Thirty-three thousand feet and no wi-fi. These are First World Problems. Well, not so much problems as grievances. Poverty is a problem. Searching for empty recognition on the internet from my phone is hardly even a grievance. My itchy patchwork of a beard on the other hand...
I'm sitting, cramped, next to my brother and wife. The folks in front of us smell. Like, authentically European smell. Almost a moist sack stink. It's giving me a bit of a headache. I've never sat in First Class, and today isn't anything new. I would imagine they have some kind of quality stench control. Next time I'll save a little extra for the leg room and breathable air.
This flight has no row 13. As if they're actually fooling anyone. When did we ("they") become such a culture of superstition? It's a fucking number, get over it.
Maybe I'll start a rumor that the color Purple is Satanic. Get a Facebook campaign going. Perhaps a humorous Twitter account. By 2130 it'll be fucking gospel.
I need a beer...
They have a pretty decent booze selection for moderately reasonable prices. I can get a Beck's for $5. About what I'd pay at a bar. Of course, I'm not sure I wanna spend $30 on a buzz. However...some of my fellow passengers have begun conversing and I forgot headphones. Shit...
Beer me?
--
2:27pm
Decided I couldn't afford the booze. Well I didn't decide, my bank account did. Instead I opted for reading selections from Bukowski's "Notes Of A Dirty Old Man." Inspires me to continue striving for a life worth reading about.
I'm floating in a haze somewhere between tired and wide awake. Can't sleep, but my film is missing frames.
A stewardess got on the PA asking for a medical doctor or EMT. She repeated. A black woman, 40's (?), got up to help. Looks like an elderly woman just a few rows in front of me and across the aisle is being administered oxygen. Only about halfway into this flight. Seriously reconsidering a cocktail...
--
2:39pm
My wife's talking in an old-timey southern accent. Kind of vaudevillian. I think all the recycled farts are getting to her. Either that or she's possessed. What's the difference at 33,000 feet?
Old ma'am "I can't breathe" is still on oxygen. Don't think she's gonna make it. Just kidding. Everyone is still smiling so it can't be that bad.
The stewardess has been holding the oxygen tank for like 15 minutes. I wonder how much that tank weighs. Can't she set it on the ground or something? Or at least give it to her husband to hold? I assume it's her husband. Do old folks date?
Black Savior is heading back to her seat and the stewardess has left as well. I think this concludes their adventure. Back to sudoku and "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" paperback for them...
- FLIGHT 2 -
*note: at this point I was becoming too enraged and/or tired to record the time of my entries
Just boarded the connecting flight to Florida. Turns out the vacant, knuckle-dragging characters you see on The Jersey Shore exist in real life. Sitting behind us are three shitbags of similar stock. Apparently, they've never been graced with the invention of headphones or told that:
A) they're white
B) Dubstep causes brain damage and they don't have much left to damage
C) nobody wants to hear their lame rhymes
D) they're white
Debating choking out the lot and storing them in the overhead bins...
--
Dear hollow sacks of fuck,
...die.
--
Holy moly, raped with a canoli! Your "music" is unlistenable. And I can actually hear it over the (much more pleasant) roar of the FUCKING JET ENGINE!
Maybe if I tell these guys we're flying over an Axe Body Spray outlet they'll jump out of the fucking plane. Eat shit, pricks...
--
I hope these three ghosts-of-House-Party-passed get corn-holed by a fucking pack of rabid, methed-out Juggalos upon exiting the plane.
--
I hope I see them on the news as the "tragic victims" of a Hostel-esque torture marathon in Berlin.
--
Shortly after that last entry we landed. My brother and I showed remarkable restraint by not murdering the three of them on site.
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