When you are waiting on the tarmac at 6 a.m. the mind can go into a lot of different and often crazy places. Mine is particularly bizarre.
As we were checking in for our flight on one of those automated person “thingys” we were offered a number of upgrades. For a price that is. My favorites was the $39 per person “Economy Plus” upgrade where you “get up to 5 inches” extra leg room. I’ve asked a number of ladies I know and none of them are looking to get up to 5 inches. I say I’m holding out for a half a foot.
I wonder why when they tell you to fasten your seat belt while on the tarmac they have to add the descriptive phrase “fasten it low and tight”? That makes my mind go to those “places” again. Based on the surly expression on our flight attendants faces I’d say they could stand a little “low and tight”. And do you ever notice how they walk the aisle and look into your lap to see exactly how “low and tight” you are fastened. Very uncomfortable.
Just before we started to taxi on the runway a baby at the back of the plane started to cry. My girlfriend said, “Oh boy. There’s a baby on the flight.” I replied, “there’s always a baby on the flight.” In her special extended vowel speech she said, “Alwaaaaaysss?” I told her, “Of course there’s alwaaayss a baby on the flight. They keep a supply of extras at every gate in the event that a flight is about to leave without one!” We were towards the back of the plane so we waited for everyone to exit before getting our bags from the overhead. The only people leaving the plane with us were a nice couple with their cute baby. I couldn’t resist saying, “don’t forget to check your baby at the gate on the way out.” I haven’t seen a more confused look in quite a while. I get a strange amount of pleasure in making my girlfriend crazy.
Last night after work I ordered the seven flavor chicken from Big Bowl for carryout. It’s my new favorite. I fought Obama’s motorcade through traffic, “tipped” a traffic guard to get through a barricade (more on that later), taught my sculpt class and packed knowing that it was waiting for me. But it wound up being seven flavored beef. I had already taken it home and it was 10 p.m so I just ate the potstickers. Massive depression. How can you get all seven flavors right but miss the meat?
Welcome to the contents of my head enhanced by sleep deprivation and starvation. Look out NYC here I come!