by Patti
Did you know that the airport bar is jam-packed at 7 am? Yes! It is! The morning lushes are getting their drunk on, waiting for planes, their beers and whiskeys golden in the morning sunlight, their collective heads bobbing.
Don't get me wrong: I love me some booze. But I am not and cannot be a morning drinker. I can barely function as it is in the morning, and the thought of booze trickling its way through my already nauseous veins sends me into hurl mode.
Disclaimer: I did take a shot of Makers Mark in an airport bar once at 9 am with some girlfriends as we waited to board a plane to Vegas. But waiting to board a plane to Vegas is living in some sort of suspended reality bubble. It doesn't count. What happens in the Vegas Bubble of Suspended Reality stays in the Vegas Bubble of Suspended Reality. But in non-suspended reality, a drink accompanied by the morning chirp of birds feels way to Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf to me.
But that's just me. Because in airports, strange things happen. All the time. People regularly stumble out of bars and onto planes at 7 am..... and then carry that crazy right onto the airplane and 30,000 feet up in the air.
Apparently, farts don't count on planes. Did you know that? At least, that is what those who are farting out the farts seem to think. I spent four hours in a metal tube of farts the other day. I don't know if it was the girl next to me, the man behind me, or the girl in front of me - or, who knows, maybe the entire planeload of passengers had plane gas (and I ain't talkin' fuel) - but whoever it was was clearly operating on the Farts Don't Count in the Air theory. And my LORD can I just point out right here and right now that farts DO count up in the air? They really do still smell. I promise. So, please: Hold it in.
Also: About reclining that seat. Yes, I know that there is absolutely nothing comfortable about sitting in an airplane seat - unless you are legless (in which case, you're probably already uncomfortable, so enjoy the extra room - you deserve it) - or one of those First Class People that have the luxury of hurtling through the air in a Lazy Boy recliner. But us Regular People? We are crammed into those seats with our knees assaulting our chins. So when you try to create more legroom by reclining your seat, you are inevitably instantly stealing away somebody else's already dangerously low legroom.
The other day, I had the distinct pleasure of sitting behind the Extreme Seat Recliner. Not only did she recline her seat, but I'm fairly certain that hers was of the Deluxe Recline variety, because as I innocently sat there reading my book, I suddenly found the girl in front of me in my lap. The tray table I had pulled out to support my book was now jammed into my sternum, and the girl's head was practically between my legs.
Let's talk food. Airlines no longer feed a passenger unless that passenger wants to purchase a mysteriously dry-yet-soggy turkey and cranberry sandwich for $15. So most savvy eco-travelers have started bringing their own food. But may I ask whatever happened to the sandwich? Because people no longer bring such simple fare to tide them over on a plane; no - they bring BUFFETS. And most of the time they are either drowning in garlic, smothered in curry, or slathered in fake, melted cheese. I love all of these things, I do - but NOT TOGETHER, and most definitely NOT within the confines of recycled air at no-oxygen heights. Combine that with farts and snoring drunk breath, and please, just please - let me just strap on a parachute and jump out.
Have you had enough? What is that you say? You don't want to hear about the man who falls asleep with his mouth open, his oblivous-to-the-world head bobbing and weaving on his airplane-pillowed neck? Because all planes have those, you know. And that man will inevitablly fall deeply asleep the VERY second you realize that if you don't go pee now, but right now, bad things will happen. So you will sit there, calculating whether or not holding it for three more hours is possible, and then you will conclude, that no, it is not, and you will carefully tap him on the shoulder, and he will snuffle and snort himself awake, his eyes bleary and confused, and then he will sigh heavily as you APOLOGIZE FOR HAVING TO PEE, and he will get up very slowly and barely move out of your way so that your ass might just brush his chest as you work your way by so that you can go pee for crying out loud. And then you will come back from the bathroom, and he might be asleep again, and you will have to wake him up, and this time you will apologize for having to sit down - the nerve! - and your ass will once again brush against his chest as you work your way by back to your seat. And then, amid the farts, the drunks, and the head between your legs, you will pray you don't have to pee again.
But since you don't want to hear about it, I'll stop here.
Happy Travels!
