Let the in-flight hunger games begin.
I traveled a lot in 2015. CA, MD, DEL, PA, NY, TX, TN, AL, CT, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Mexico, oh my God I was exhausted. On my last flight they charged me for the bags under my eyes.
Air travel is getting more and more unreliable. You now ought to buy insurance because you actually might not make your destination in time. You have less room, unless you fork over the dough for extra legroom. Oh, if you’ve got the money you could buy enough legroom to walk there. Racquetball anyone? So now, everybody is priority. Seriously, after all the priority status passengers have gotten on, there are only a straggling few of us left who don’t have the perks. It is humiliating, especially when we are firmly directed not to use the red priority carpet, ours is the blue rag just to the right. What?
It is torture to fly – people are snapping. There was nearly a murder on a flight recently because someone put his seat back the allotted 2.5 inches. I understand the frustration sitting behind this seat back putter. I don’t have much space as it is, so you putting your seat back and coming into my already non-existent space is going to make me a bit anxious. And, if I ask you politely to “Not do that please” and you insist it is “your right to do it” and do it anyway – and your head is basically in my lap, I am not going to give you a lovely scalp massage. I am going to put my dinner tray on your face and strangle you with my seat belt. Can you say flight rage?
Southwest sells a block of kid free zone seats, that are guaranteed to keep you away from the screaming, kicking, crying, children and their horrible, non-parenting skilled parents. Oh, I had a fight with this guy – he was talking to his screaming three year old; who was kicking the back of my seat and pounding on its tray table, like it was a djembe drum, like a therapist would speak to a client. “That is not a good thing to do right now, could you stop doing that?” The kid is three and having a tantrum he doesn’t understand reasoning you fucking douche. Take the kid out of the situation and change something. Oh, I was loosing it. So, I snaked my hand back, beside the window and tapped the kid’s tray table to try to jostle him out of it. Well, the screaming got even worse because now it was from the Father – We were fighting and arguing through the crack in the seats. And once we started fighting the kid calmed down.
Why do I always get the wing seat? That is not good for me, cause after four hours or four drinks that red handle gets very tempting. I just wanna see the yellow slide.
Let the in-flight hunger games begin.