As pretty as an Airport

The assfuckery started early. We had managed to weasel our way past the worst of the security mess, Yulia had found that no one paid any attention to the central checkpoint at Sea-Tac, and as such we avoided  a half hour line. As such we had no problem getting to the gate on time, but the problem wasn’t the gate, it was our seats.

For some reason when we got our tickets from the airline, we had no seats assigned. We even checked in over the Internet the night before, and still no seats.  So we got to the gate early to check with the computer there, and we were scattered all over the plane. The lady running the gate was working to  try to get us back together, but apparently we weren’t the only scrambled group that day, and it was largely hopeless. Yulia and Lena ended up next to First Class. The Girls were right behind them, I was near the middle of the plane, and Gena was in the last row. Interestingly, this turned out to be a bit of circular luck, as having to listen to toilets flushing for five hours makes one need to piss all the time, and whadda ya know, the bathrooms are right there!

We were doomed.

In my row I has some neurotic mother dressed in cast offs from some Fundamentalist Mormon compound yard sale yelling at her daughter to complete math homework. Once that page was completed a new one was produced, and the yelling would start again. Across the aisle was a small hyperactive Asian child who was in a constant yelling match with his father, and was trying to start a pillow fight with the whole plane.

The drinks service couldn’t start soon enough.

Fortunately for us the rear crew was in a particularly good mood, and booze flowed freely. After my first two drinks, I went to the galley in back to hang out with Gena who was chatting up the crew. Yulia joined shortly, and we had a pretty good party going back there. two or three more drinks in and I simply quit caring about the degenerates that I had to sit with.

Meal service didn’t  make it any better, as we had to buy small cold-cut packs that made the drinks service seem like the deal of the century. To top that off, I kept getting asked what my wife would like. This was coming from the fore crew, who seemed to be populated with 100 year old women, and when I told them, "well, I’m not sure what my wife would like, as she is in a different section of the plane, I got mixed looks of confusion, shame, and horror, which seemed to be two emotions too many for the hind-brains of these old lizards to handle. the shut up and gave me my boxed meats, and I went back to my drink.

I love to fly.

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