An Ode To Flying

The stress of just getting to the airport? When to leave? Will we be late ? THERE’S SO MUCH GODDAMN TRAFFIC. CHRIST, PHIL, JUST GO AROUND THE 1998 CHEVY CORSICA.

Ok, we made it. Now let’s park and—$76 per day to park?!!! Who the fuck allowed this crime?

Now we drag our crap for approximately half a mile until we navigate to the check bag station. Ok ok… why the FUCK don’t I have a seat number yet? Did these assholes overbook the flight? I’m about to ignite my inner Karen on these bitches and— oh. Okay I do have a seat number. 

Let’s just check out bags. Too heavy. Yep, I figured that out by the way my damn back broke just dragging it here, thanks, Susan. 

TSA here we come! My favorite part, especially when I get dragged out of line because they think I’ve stuffed bombs up my vagina. Do we have to take our shoes off? We do…? Goddamnit I’m wearing my SpongeBob socks. I hope people don’t judge me. Actually, who cares, SpongeBob is a great show and I’m a grown ass woman  who doesn’t care what other people— God it’s your turn to go through the metal detector, will you get a move on?!

Made it through TSA without being groped this time—that’s a plus! Ok now to find our gate. According to this map it’s aaalllllll the way at the end of the airport. Fucking wonderful. Let’s go, Phil. The calluses on my feet are ready for some love. 

At the gaaaaaate finally. What should we do ? Get food? Water? Shop around? Try to take a shit now so we won’t be subjected to the HUMILIATION of attempting a shit on the flight? 

Let’s just board. Or … not board and instead just stand in line for twenty minutes while other people with more expensive seats board before us. Jesus Christ how long does it take to walk onto a plane? 

Alright where am I sitting…? A middle seat? Fun. And I’m right next to the toilet! Can’t wait to make awkward eye contact with every person who waits in line to drop a humiliating deuce on the flight! I’ll make judgement eyes at them for being too fucking WEAK to shit before the flight. Amateurs. 

Okay time to awkwardly step over this person in the aisle seat. Mumbling apologies and making jokes will make this slightly less uncomfortable. And now I just have to shove all my shit under the seat without annoying the person in front of me. And now we …. wait another half hour for the plane to actually take off. That’s productive. Okay what can I do… I’ll check my emails. Wait, no everyone from work is up my ass, that’s stressful enough for a coronary right now. Maybe I can crack open a book or…? Just nap? But these seats are so goddamn uncomf— WILL YOU SHUT UP YOUR BABY?! THEIR DEMONIC SCREAMS OF TERROR ARE NOT CUTE TO THE REST US! 

God it’s so bright—can this dude close the window? Should I ask him to close it? Or would that make me seem like a cranky old bitch? Is it worth it to be a cranky old bitch right now? 

Why is it so hot on this plane? Aren’t planes supposed to be cold? Maybe I’m just having a stroke. I don’t want to die in a middle seat that’s like the MOST embarrassing way to die. Here lies Katie: she was in s middle seat so it’s safe to assume she endured a painful death and an uncomfortable couple of hours leading up to her death. 

Maybe I’ll distract myself with a movie. If this guy would just NOT lean his chair back DAMN. Good thing I’ve got short legs. All those suckers who were born tall must really hate their blessed genes when they’re on a flight. 

Are we there yet? 

Oh thank god, they’re serving food. I was about to gnaw off my own arm. Okay what’re the options. God they all look repulsive. Maybe I’ll just starve— that would be more satisfying. 

Why does this dude next to me smell so weird? Wait, is it me? Do I smell? No, you don’t notice your own scent right? 

IS THAT THE VOICE OF GOD TELLING US WE’RE LANDING IN TWENTY MINUTES?!

All we have to do is survive the landing. We’ve made it this far … HOLY SHIT that landing hurt my ass. Maybe that’s a sign that my ass is too bony. I should really do some squats while we wait for our luggage. 

Ok, PHIL?!!! PHIL WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? Let’s go. And now we walk another two miles just to find our bags and exit the airport. 

Someone tell me why it takes forty goddamn minutes to get our bags from the carousal? Is that what they’re called? Carousal? Yeah that sounds right. 

Alright let’s go. I’m fucking tired. Can’t wait to do this whole thing again for our return trip.