Aeroplaning South

Segment 1: PDX to LAX
What the bugger is wrong with public WIFI?  I spend far too much time in airports to not have access to the internet. When I need to know the coordinates for Djmansi, or calculate the internal capacity of a Greek grapefruit, or if donkeys can hybridize with zebras…dammit I need to know right then. There is no telling how many awesome ideas have gone down the pike because the nameless-coffee-outlet-from-hell cannot control their damn WIFI.
Don’t even get me started on those T-Mobsters.
For that matter, when did they start piling sand dunes up around the LAX tarmac? Unless we landed in Bakersfield and drove the rest of the way, which is entirely possible, credible even, I may be in the wrong place altogether. On the upside the tiny jet was screaming fast and the gentleman next to me was from Memphis. I do love a southern accent.
Segment 2: LAX to DFW
Second leg of the flight I lucked out and got the row to myself. If you fly you know this translates as: Woot! Score! Hot Barnacles! All that excitement means you don’t have to rub shoulders and bump assorted anatomical parts with total strangers. Not that I’ve EVER done that. Nope.
The empty seat next to you is the best travel companion. But if I have to choose, I’ve flown enough over the last five years to know my preferences. I’ll take the drunk first. Inebriated passengers are always a lot more fun than the standard issue traveler. My next choice is the younger crowd: newborns, squalling toddlers, obnoxious children, angst-ridden emotionally ravaged teens, etc. I can tune any of that out. No problem. After that it’s a crapshoot. The absolute worst are the Mr. I’m-so-important-I-can’t-turn-off-my-phone-so-the-plane-can-depart Businessman.
Sit in the rear of the plane. Not because it’s safer, c’mon you’re 37,000 feet up, there is no safe place. The flight attendants who work the back are always more inappropriate, and let’s face it, that’s just more fun. Bet me.


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