There's something sweet and endearing about a child who is taken aback by the marvel of flight. When they go "Wheeee!" as we take off, I can't help but smile, because I know that little brat won't be crying and screaming the whole flight.
There's a girl sitting in front of me who could be very pretty, if she'd stop being a joyless, bitter bitch and smile a little. Just a little, mind you. I'm not asking for a wide tooth-filled grin. Just a little smile. Something to show she's not a robot built specifically to sit in front of me on an airplane and make me blog about her being a joyless, bitter bitch.
"I'm totally going to get 4 hours of work done on this flight to San Francisco." "Oh, wow, good, there's Wi-Fi on the plane. That'll help me get work done!" 3 Hours Later, I've made 7 status updates to Facebook and Twitter, blogged random thoughts I had on the plane, and finished a few more levels on World of Goo. It's just like being in the office.
Sometimes, it's hot on the plane, and my ass sweats. About a year ago, I figured out that I could go into the bathroom and sit on the john and flush it a lot. If you've never used an airplane toilet, it doesn't use water as much as it violently sucks everything down the hole, creating this refreshing vortex of drying wind around your nethers. And it just occurred to me what the other passengers must think, as they hear the toilet flush 10-12 times in succession.
I always ask for a can of Coke Zero, no cup, no ice. I always get a weird look from the flight attendant. I don't understand why -- I'd rather have room temperature Coke than watered-down-yet-cool Coke. Plus, if there's ever a terrorist event, I want the can so I can fold it over a few times, rip it in half, and SLICE THAT TERRORIST'S THROAT. Of course, they could do the same with their own can of Coke Zero. Which is why anti-terrorism actions like taking off shoes and limiting access to nail clippers makes no fucking sense. But hey, at least I feel safe.
Why do people with horrific birthmarks or skin ailments on their scalp shave their heads?
There has never been a single time I've ever entered an airport with a Sbarro's or California Pizza Kitchen that, while I'd NEVER entertain the thought at home or elsewhere, I don't want a Breakfast Pizza.
My deodorant smells a little like carrot cake. It didn't smell that way in the store. But dammit if it does't smell like it right now. And now, I want carrot cake. I'm pretty sure there is no carrot cake on this flight, and my tongue won't reach my armpit.
Three hours left on the flight. I better get to work.