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November 20, 2006

Die In A Fire

I would rather die in a fire than fly during the holidays. This is the time of year when every loser on the planet scrapes together the loose change from their laundry money stash and their couch cushions and buys a plane ticket. These people don't know how to travel, let alone fly. They come onto the plane carrying animals, guitars, and wailing children.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for flying with us today. Please stow your oversized steamer trunks and enjoy your flight to hell.?

The guy next to me is wearing a North Pole expedition jacket with fur cuffs and a a gold watch complete with the iced out spinning hubcap. The jacket doesn't come close to fitting in his seat, so he's way into my seat with his arms and elbows and his faux fur coat. He's a playa. Ear rings. Toe rings. Breath that would wilt an oak.

“You sure you don't want to put your parka in the overhead compartment?? I offer.

“No. I'm fine.?

He's fine, but I'm not fine. The jacket is way into my space and if I had a metal fork I think I'd stick it in his forehead, but God is watching out for him as there are no metal forks on this flight.

The flight attendant brings me a Canadian Mist and Diet Coke and swipes my television screen, cause I fly every week. The guy beside me can't see clear to cough up five dollars to get his television turned on, so he starts watching my screen.

He's shoulder surfing my television screen halfway across the planet and it's driving me nuts and when he's trying to get another free cup of ice water, I see my chance and I turn my brightness down all the way so my screen goes black, leaving him unable to watch my television. I put on my headphones and boot up my laptop, so, when he turns around, the football game has gone black, and I'm hiding behind laptop and my headphones, pretending as though I'm oblivious to the fury rising inside of the pimp beside me.

He protests profusely, but I pretend not to hear him and I start pounding Canadian Mist and Diet coke.

Now that he can't watch my television, he just watches the free channel, which basically shows an airplane flying across the continent of North America, along with the altitude and velocity of the plane.

Every time the planes changes speed by more than 3 mph, or climbs or descends more than 11 feet, he points to his little screen and attempts to explain to me that we're now going faster or slower or higher or lower. He tracks our progress across the continent, pointing out where we are every 19 seconds, in case I missed it somehow.

“Is this your first time to fly?? he asks me and then sneezes into my Diet Coke and Canadian Mist.

This is why I hate flying on the Holidays. This is bad. As bad as it gets. This is what it comes down to. People drag their relatives to the airport and shove them into airplanes. People who've never seen the inside of the plane. People that live in barns with livestock are asking me if it's the first time I've ever flown. I shouldn't have to sit next to these people. This isn't right.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying to hell with us today. We hope you have a pleasant flight.?

I go to the bathroom, and when I come back, he's figured out how to turn up the brightness on my television screen so he can continue to watch his football game. I corner the flight attendant in the front galley. I've got my back to the passengers, and I throttle her but good. Pin her against the wall of the plane, and lift her about three inches off the ground by her skinny pale neck.

“Listen, sister...you gotta help me out here. This pimp is watching my screen, and it's driving me nuts. Somethin's gotta give here. Will you swipe him so he'll stop staring over my shoulder?"

“Oh. Sure. Sorry about that. I didn't notice.?

And I'm thinking..."You didn't notice? Didn't notice the playa watch, the iced-out grillz, and fur coat? Christ. This guy has goldfish swimming in his platform shoes. This plane could be in flames and you wouln't notice."

Finally, the flying waitress swipes his screen so he can watch television, so I turn mine back on, but now he can't seem to adjust his channel or volume without playing with my leg. After a while, he gets tired of playing with my leg, and loses interest in his television altogether, and just begins watching mine again. Why? I couln't tell you.

As we're landing in Nashville, he leans way over me with that paint-peeling breath to stare out he window like a dog in a pickup truck, so I close the window shade and pray for the plane to burst into flames.

Posted by Peenie Wallie on November 20, 2006 at 12:20 AM


I would rather die in a fire

Well, when the Cleer Creek County SWAT team shows up, you very well may.

Posted by: Anonymous Coward on November 21, 2006 at 8:31 AM

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