There was this stupid guy on my flight back from Dallas yesterday. In his thirties, with a serial-killer buzzcut, 80s light wash jeans, and a tucked-in long-sleeved jersey.
In the air he wandered up and down the aisle about 50 times, in his socks. Not to go to the lavatory, just to stretch out and get in people's way.
I was in the back of the plane next to the galley. On one of his passes, he stopped next to me in the aisle, reached into the galley, around a flight attendant, who looked up in surprise, and poured himself some orange juice.
She maintained her polite Texas stewardess smile, which clearly said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Befitting my exhausted New England business traveler scowl, I griped, "What does he think, this is a bed and breakfast?" She laughed a big Dallas clip-on earrings and Botox laugh.
In the air he wandered up and down the aisle about 50 times, in his socks. Not to go to the lavatory, just to stretch out and get in people's way.
I was in the back of the plane next to the galley. On one of his passes, he stopped next to me in the aisle, reached into the galley, around a flight attendant, who looked up in surprise, and poured himself some orange juice.
She maintained her polite Texas stewardess smile, which clearly said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Befitting my exhausted New England business traveler scowl, I griped, "What does he think, this is a bed and breakfast?" She laughed a big Dallas clip-on earrings and Botox laugh.
1 Comments:
When I landed in Dallas a few months ago, they played the theme song to the TV show. Then made us sit there for the next hour, which forced me to have to run for my connecting flight, like Hugh Grant in some romantic dramedy where he suddenly realizes he's in love with Jennifer Love Hewitt and has to catch her before she gets on that plane and walks out of his life forever. Anyway, welcome home!
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