August 5, 2003
So here’s the situation: I am writing this while on a plane somewhere between Chicago and Albuquerque. I am tired, cranky and unfortunately VERY aware that this long day is nowhere near done.
I am returning to Tucson from an amazingly wonderful three-plus days in New York City, and because Mother Nature has seen it fit to screw around with the weather in every city with flights connecting to mine, I will be getting home late. Like, four hours late. Like, 2 a.m. late.
And I have to work tomorrow, which is oh-so-fun on the day after a long vacation.
My mood can be summed up with one succinct vocalization: THPPPPPTH. Therefore, I am going to take this crappy mood and run with it. It’s time to rant about:
1. PEOPLE WHO COMPLAIN WHEN IT DOES ABSOLUTELY NO GOOD. I just had the pleasure of watching some old bag rip into a blameless flight attendant because our flight is running late. In particular, this woman – who is noticeably going bald, possibly explaining why she is such a bitter bitch – was angry that the flight was delayed leaving Chicago because the airline held our flight so some connecting passengers could make it.
While I understand that it is a questionable call to delay 130 folks by a half-hour so seven others can make a flight – by the way, I applaud the airline for doing it, because those seven folks will be able to make it home tonight, although I can see the argument against it – what good is it going to do to bitch out the flight attendant? Was it her decision? Will a lesson be learned as a result of bitching her out? Will yelling at her somehow make the space-time continuum burst open, allowing the error to be rectified? NO.
Shut up, eat your frigging peanuts and browse the SkyMall catalogue for some Rogaine, OK?
2. PEOPLE WHO BLOCK IGNORANTLY PASSAGEWAYS. Let me paint a picture: You’re attending an event at Victorian Square – Hot August Nights, or if poodle skirts make you ill, perhaps the rib cook-off. There are a gazillion people everywhere, but there is a pathway that people are walking through – except that some cretin named Bert is standing in the pathway vigorously trying to remove a poodle-skirt thread/piece of rib gristle from his teeth, blocking all foot traffic in the process.
It’s annoying, and all of us encounter Berts regularly -- at the mall, the supermarket, at church, etc. Well, Sparks residents, be grateful that you do not live in New York, because Berts are EVERYWHERE. You can’t walk a block in Manhattan without dodging 23 path-blockers doing God knows what. It’s bloody annoying. I am being honest when I say that at one point during my weekend in New York, I nearly smacked a couple of Berts with a small umbrella. I am not a violent person – I have never been in a physical altercation – but if I lived in New York, I fear I would snap within two weeks and wind up in jail facing a count or two of assault with a rainy weapon.
3. IDIOTS WITH ATTITUDES. On my way to New York, our plane had a stop in Chicago, and the flight was actually early. Thus, the flight attendants gave us continuing passengers a chance to get off the plane and grab a bite to eat, wander around, attempt to find Jimmy Hoffa’s body, etc. One attendant told people to put their carry-on in their seats to save their places; we were on Southwest, which meant there were no assigned seats.
Well, you can guess what happened: Some dork and his wife got on the plane, saw two bags in two prime adjacent seats and decided to take matters into his own hands. He threw the bags in an overhead bin, and he and his wife plopped down. A short time later, the two gentlemen who had the seats previously returned; one of the gentlemen politely asked for the seats back.
"No!" said the dork.
"No?" asked one of the gentlemen.
I was getting ready to referee the ensuing fight, but there wasn’t one. The gentlemen wisely got a flight attendant, who came and removed the dork – now bellering about what an outrage it was – and his mortally embarrassed wife from the seats. The attendant politely but firmly told the couple to find other seats or they could be escorted off the plane. He hollered all the way to their new seats, talking about how he’d contact Southwest and get the woman fired, etc etc.
What a dip.
I’ll bet he blocks passageways, too. It’s a good thing I didn’t have my umbrella.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan in exile in Arizona who is battling a case of jet lag. Jimmy’s column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be e-mailed at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.