jessrose552 (jessrose552) wrote in thebostonhydra,
jessrose552
jessrose552
thebostonhydra

Musings by Jess

I have been flying a lot lately and I noticed something. Airports have the privilege of experiencing us at our worst. We all like to think we are nice, kind, non-judgmental people. But friends, that is just not the case. At least not when flying. Scene: You are sitting in the airport, waiting at gate C24 for your flight that is was originally scheduled to leave half an hour ago, and is now scheduled to leave sometime in June '09. Sure, you look like you're just sitting there quietly penciling wrong numbers in your Sudoku, but what's REALLY going is not quite so innocent. I know the truth. I know you are JUDGING. You glance around your gate area and you wonder who the lucky chump who gets to sit next to you is. And you decide who you want it to be. First, you eliminate the double dippers. Those who give you way too many reasons to want to change seats. The kid across the row from you who is alternately screaming at his mom and wiping his ever running nose on his crusty sleeve. Old guy sitting two away from you sounds like he is going to hack up a small animal any minute now. And lady with an unnecessary amount of Burberry luggage who snaps at the meek little guy sitting next to her (you can only assume he is her husband) every time he so much as hiccups. check. Then you do a more general sweep, eliminating all the young children, sickies, and unusually corpulent folk. As you look over the scattered few that you have left, an attractive member of the opposite sex catches your eye. You smile. I'm going to sit next to HIM/HER you think. All is well. You grab your gigantic backpack and get in line when section 4 is called, excited for the opportunity the long ride ahead of you will give you to talk to mr./ms. hottie. You sit down and eagerly await the arrival of your neighbor. He sits down next to you and smiles sweetly. Then he wipes his runny nose on his sleeve and starts screaming at his mom again. Oh well, maybe on the return flight . . .
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