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Saturday, November 29, 2003

Day One: Arrival

My plane ride was somewhat uneventful, insofar as it did not crash. But that's about where the benefits end. I was seated in a window seat in business class, where I had the luck of having a sofa. Unfortunately, that sofa was occupying the seat next to me, and an appreciable percentage of my space. I had brought SI on the plane (the college basketball edition - so a week old) and had finished the entire thing during my million years of being in the terminal. When asked if I was reading it by the guy who I'm fairly sure was capable of consuming me whole, I foolishly relayed this information. He asked if he could read it, and I agreed, put on my sunglasses and headphones, and tried to fall asleep. This was successful for five minutes, whereupon Mr. Laz-E-Boy decided it was his obligation to start talking to me. I tried to show with body language that I was not interested in conversation, by putting a pillow over my ears. This was too subtle. For the next hour (including taxiing, takeoff, and part of the flight) this trend continued until I finally told him that if he didn't stop, I was going to have to ask to switch seats.

I thought my problems were over.

I got another ten minutes of rest before klaxons started sounding in the airplane. First one towards the front, then one directly to my side, and then behind me. I was immediately startled since I assumed, I think naturally, that this was signalling the imminent demise of the aircraft. Alas, I am not so lucky. It seems that on thanksgiving, all the parents of the world take it upon themselves to drag their children out to visit family who probably doesn't want to see them. So we got many, many crying babies, toddlers, and even one seven year-old. Come on. If you're seven, and cry in an airplane, you deserve the overbearing wife who you'll inevitably marry right out of high school, and who controls every aspect of your life. After fourty minutes of this, I started thinking. See, I KNOW that smothering babies is probably illegal, but can they REALLY legislate what goes on in an airplane? After a moment of reflection, I realized they almost certainly could, and went back to just being miserable and numb from the waist down.

After landing, I got to fight through most of DIA before meeting my dad, and driving home. After arriving home, I pretty much just watched random tv and went to sleep, and had nightmares about how I imagined the rest of the weekend would go.

cranked out at 5:20 PM | |

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