My morning coffee - what happens on the way to New Orleans....
Hello my darlings,
What a week... I officially sold my house, I am perilously close to getting a job (I think) I organized (ok mostly organized... it's much better than it was) the closet in my second bedroom and I succeeded in getting Ray's airline miles transferred to me. Now, as I write this I am en route to New Orleans to celebrate my friend Joie's birthday. There are three of us doing a quick weekend getaway, Joie, me and our friend James Beasley. Poor James is already wondering what the hell he signed up for, but he's a seasoned traveler and New Orleans has vodka, so I think we will be just fine. I plan to chronicle much of this trip for all of you, so I thought it would only be appropriate that I start this journey at the airport.
I booked us on a 9:45am flight. Joie and James stayed with me in Denver last night and we were at the airport in plenty of time to take advantage of James status and enjoy a couple of breakfast cocktails. However, the real fun began when we got to our gate. Lucky for us, Joie and I, got to board the plane behind a family. Moreover, it was one of those families that want to make every fucking thing a lesson. Let's call this family the Dumdums. Daddy Dum asks his son, I'm guessing this kid was probably 8-9 years old, to read the group number on the boarding pass, then reassures him that "very good! yes it's group 3." Seriously, if this kid, at this age, can only now read the number 3 I don't think papa dumschitz has much cause for reassurance. Daughter Dumdum was a waif, feeble little creature, lucky for all of us mama McDummuns confirmed that she was teetering on the edge of certifiable when she snatched the rolling suitcase was the clueless waif while exasperatedly sighing that her hands are already full. We follow them onto the plane and as luck would have it they were seated in the row ahead of us. F*mylife.
Since I know you are all very astute readers, boarding in Group 3 means there are more groups behind us. Joie and I take our seats (James was nestled comfortably away in his first class seat, probably sipping a cocktail or flirting with the cute, young flight attendant. FWIW Joie and I disagreed which team this cute, young thing was batting for, but I'm confident I am right) and watch disheveled travelers bump and smash suitcases, backpacks and laptop bags down the aisle toward us. A woman in a row behind us shuffles down the row and attempts to heave her giant, over stuffed suitcase into the overhead bin. Surprising to exactly no one, it doesn't fit! You should be very proud that I rolled my eyes, I made faces at Joie and I signed rather peevishly, but I did not stand up, tear the bag from her hands and tell her to measure her f*ing bag before she attempts to carry it on. Finally, after rearranging nearly all of the items in the overhead bin, her airplane Tetris game was complete and by some miracle the door closed.
Next comes a slovenly, bearded man with a gigantic duffle bag. Cleary, the airlines don't actually care about the size or shape of these bags, because once again there is no way this bag even matches one of the posted dimensions, but as per usual, through determination, perseverance, a complete disregard to the belongings of any fellow traveler and brute force the bag is successfully smashed into the overhead bin. Behind the sloth was a small child, with her little, purple, star-emblazoned child-size suitcase in tow. They move into the row behind me and suddenly I am pierced with a sharp pain as the child-size suitcase is crammed into the compartment under the seat and the foot of the suitcase is rammed into one very sensitive Achilles' tendon scar on my right heel. Yeah, the one that didn't really heal well and hurts frequently. Damn you United Airlines!
The final joy of flying that I will regale you with today is the vantage point that a seated passenger has when watching fellow travelers heave luggage into the overhead bins. On this flight I was both graced with a face full of tatas as the woman with the giant suitcase struggled to reposition every item in the bin to make hers fit and a close up and personal view of daddy mcdumdums derrière as he got up a dozen or so times to retrieve electronic devices for his little dummuns. Hands down the most amazingly terrifying site was the black girl bootie that almost knocked me out. Not kidding I felt like I was momentarily transported back into a 90's song about a "round thing in my face...." Seriously, airplanes are amazing! Name one other place on the planet where you can shove your boobs in someone's face without receiving either a reprimand or perhaps a tip....
Oh, the joys of flying coach. As a consultant who travels every week, I know that James has earned his status and deserve the opulent service he is experiencing in First Class, but I also know that he will pay for that over the next few days while Joie and I continue to torture him with tales of flying coach....
Until next time....
XOXO
PS. Joie demanded that I inform all of you that I had a full-blown temper tantrum, foot stomping included when Daddy McDumbass sitting in front of me reclined his seat. I am adamant that these seats should not move. With his seat now reclined I was forced to use my boobs as a laptop table! Frankly, I was closer to this man than I ever wanted to be and with a birds eye view of his expanding bald spot I was even less happy.
PPS, I think I might write a letter to the CEO to have him work on ensuring that coach seats always remain in the full upright and locked position. You're welcome!
R