Hey there V-Listers! Sorry I’ve been away so long – sometimes I gots to work to pay the bills. But I’m on vacation and blogging from 30,000 feet. Recently, Marc gave us a visual demonstration of the risks of flying. For this post’s sake, let’s say you get on the plane. I did. Here’s what you risk suffering through on a 5-hour flight to California…
Right now, my keester can’t feel a thing. I’ve been plastered to this blue pleather seat for longer than I can say. I’ve sat through the cinematic brilliance of Fool’s Gold (Matty M’s abs of steel and Kate Hudson’s certified hottie-ness couldn’t save that boat from sinking). I had an overpriced Amstel Light. I’ve worked on projects for my job that I simply can’t shake, even on vacation. And now, my ass is useless. Quite literally.
4. Sir Charge
Remember that beer I told you about? The frosty Belgian brew? It was $5 for a can. A CAN! The only place it gets any worse is Yankee Stadium and the $7 Heine…but at least there I can have a 7th Inning Stretch. Contributing to my numb-butt is the total lack of legroom in coach. But I digress and return to the overcharging of everything now. Now, you have to pay for meals. You have to pay for more than one checked bag. You have to pay for the other people on the flight who will inevitably ruin your trip. They are numbers 3 through 1.
3. First-Class Snobs
I’ve had the privilege of flying First Class only a few times in my life. Once you fly First Class, you never, ever, ever want to go back to coach. EVER. The thing about people in First Class is that they give you that look of shame as you go back through the blue wool curtain and enter the lower caste of coach. I understand why – it’s like another world. One filled with numb-butt, pleather, negative legroom and drinks you have to pay for. And no hot towels! No hot towels! What’s up with that? I just might want a hot towel in coach – did you ever think about that, Delta??? Did you? Never mind, I’d probably just use it to smother the kids sitting in front of me.
Sweet wounded crap, these kids were spawned from the left nipple of Satan himself. The boy is four years old. He may be the dumbest child on the face of the planet. He constantly asks where we’re going, though both parents and grandparents have told him on numerous occasions. His name is “Jared.” He even has the name that makes him sound like a tool. He screams. He cries. He begs that the plane “go slow” because he’s afraid of flying for the first time. He throws a tantrum when his nose itches and he has to sneeze. He makes fun of mom when she cries because his baby sister won’t let her rest. Oh, sister…she wants to stand the entire flight on mom’s lap. She wails with the lung capacity of a large chimpanzee. Don’t let her cuteness fool you. She knows she’s stuck way the hell back here in coach, and she wants her hot towel yesterday. Or maybe it’s because her daddy is a douche.
One of the greatest lines in American cinema comes from Back to The Future. “The boy’s an idiot. Parents are probably idiots, too. It’s genetic.” Dad has been complaining since he got on the plane. Dad tells upset passengers he can’t do anything, “babies cry.” Dad sits in the corner and mocks his wife when she’s having a breakdown with said baby. Dad has a MANicure. Dad shouts OVER the aisle to his dad to have a conversation about money – because he likes to flaunt how he has it (so why are he and the family in coach?). Dad racistly impersonates a Chinese nail technician, even though a Chinese man sits right next to me. Dad is everything that’s wrong with America. No wonder his kids are a hot mess. I wish the creature that terrorized William Shatner in The Twilight Zone would reach his furry claw through the window and throw this man into a turbine at 750 mph. Then maybe, just maybe, when they peel me off my chair in an hour, I’ll be satisfied with my flight experience.