Ugh, my body is none too happy about being up at the crack of dawn and is sure to make its discontent known by the constant feelings of nausea. Come to think of it, it could just be a carry over from last night's subjection to bits and pieces of the 2girls1cup video or what could more appropriately be called the most vile, disgusting, NSFW thing you should never have the displeasure of viewing (don't google it, trust me; and, if you can't heed my advice, definitely don't look it up at work).
I'm in the air on my way back to the West Coast and currently adding to my discomfort is the growing level of annoyance with the 'normal rules don't apply to me' woman in the adjacent row who decided to bring her stupid, yippy purse dog that hasn't shut up since we took off, on board, and is letting it run around her lap and the seat next to her. This is, of course, after the flight attendant explicitly told her, for the second time, to put the dog in its carrier and place it under the seat where it must remain for the duration of the flight. And I really wish she'd stop standing up and facing me with her pink, crushed velvet wedgie.
Seriously, dude, you're going to the bathroom again? Either you're doing more coke than Tony Montana or that must have been some really bad Chinese food last night. Why do I care? Probably because you bash the shit out of my seat every time you get up. Please, just go hang out in the back of the plane.
"Hello from the flight deck. We're running about 50 minutes ahead of schedule, so we're gonna take a little detour over the Grand Canyon. Don't worry, we'll fly back and forth over it so both sides get a good view. Let's start with the right side of the plane." The plane dips its right wing down a good 30 degrees and my view of the horizon is replaced with the Colorado River. The entire family behind me crowds the window seat to get a look and practically slams me face first into the seatback in front of me.
"Ok folks, now the left side." The plane rotates hard on its axis the other way and now all I see is sky on my right. And everyone else running to the left side of the plane as if the Virgin Mary herself was waving back at them.
"Isn't it beautiful? Great day for a tour of the Grand Canyon." True, but what is even more beautiful is that that damn dog finally shut the hell up.
We make 5 or 6 more S-turns over the canyon to kill any time advantage we may have had and continue on our way, ensuring a non-early arrival (is this why this flight only comes in on time 60% of the time?).
"You know what folks? We've got an extra few minutes to kill here, let's take you on a tour of the Hoover Dam. It's gonna be coming up on the left side, I'm gonna try to put us right over it so you can get a good view. It's such a beautiful day out there – look at that view!"
Oh, we're starting our final descent, time for Yippy to start up again...
Why is it that the only people that check the tags on their luggage are the ones who have ridiculously unique luggage in the first place? I’m standing in the baggage claim at the airport and watching a guy very meticulously check the tag on his enormous, bright purple suitcase while it’s still on the belt and other bags are starting to pile up behind the monstrosity, threatening to carry the two of them around the ‘claim. Not to be outdone, a woman 10 feet away is giving just as much attention to the tags on her pink and white zebra-stripe luggage that she just pulled off the carousel. Meanwhile, a myriad of black suitcases float down the belt as people pluck their anonymous bags without a second glance.