Click. “This is the Captain speaking. We will be making our final decent into O’Hare at this time. We hope to have you on the ground in half an hour where the local time is 6:30 pm and the current temperature is a toasty 15 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Ha Ha Ha! Just a wee bit of humor from the flight deck.” Click.
Dear Lord! I thought desperately. Will this flight from hell ever end? First of all, my reservations were lost on the information super-highway somewhere because when I ran to the ticket counter to confirm my first class ticket, there was no record of my purchase. After speaking with a supervisor, I was placed in coach in a middle seat since first class was full. At least they refunded the difference. Next, we were sitting on the tarmac for what seemed like hours, 3 to be exact. The wings had to be de-iced with that pink, fluffy unknown substance 4 times. Finally the plane was in motion and we had a near picture perfect take off and a glorious view of New York City from La Guardia Airport. Alas, that perfect take off was the last flawless service this damn airline had to offer.
I was stuck in 32B and yes, thank you very much; it was the row in front of the restroom and flight attendant galley. No rest for the weary, except for Mr. 32A, a portly man, who stomped onto the plane and plopped into his seat with a harrumph. He had waxy, almost grey colored skin with blood shot eyes and yellowed teeth. I almost chocked on the water bottle that I had to purchase at the gate because of the heightened security rules. He truly and irrevocably resembled a Zombie. Yes a Zombie. Okay, I did stay up late watching “Army of Darkness” last night, but still, he looked and even smelled like fresh earth. So Mr. 32A will henceforth be known as Mr. Zombie 32A. Mr. Zombie 32A promptly burped (which smelled like bologna and possibly cigarette butts) and fell asleep for the duration of the flight.
Miss pimply-teen 32C was on the other side of me with her fashion magazines, brightly colored laptop and bright blue painted fingernails. She was actually verbally quiet and did not want to do the requisite polite chatter on the flight. The only noise that came from Miss pimply-teen 32C was the constant snap of her clown headed Pez dispenser and the tap, tap, tap of her fingernails on the laptop’s keyboard. She put on her headphones and stared aimlessly at her monitor watching some romantic comedy on her computer. It was quiet except for the snap of the Pez dispenser.
Click. “Please make sure that all seatbacks and tray tables are up and your seatbelts are securely fastened. It is time to stow all carry-ons to under the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. All electronic items should be turned off at this time. All of us at Big Apple Airlines would like to thank you for flying with us and hope your stay in Chicago or whatever your final destination may be is pleasurable.” Click.
Damn Skippy, it’s going to be pleasurable in Chicago after spending way too long on this tin can without any edible food or more than a thimble full to drink. Really, does it cost that much to provide adequate liquid refreshment? How about a restroom fan that actually works to prevent the back of the plane to smell like a sewage plant? Thank you Big Apple Airlines for making this trip memorable.
Mr. Zombie 32A has arisen from the dead looking no more alive than 3-day-old road kill and Miss pimply-teen 32C has stopped snapping the Pez dispenser. It must be time to land.
Click. “We have just landed, please stay in your seats until we have reached the gate and the seatbelt sign has gone off. Your baggage can be picked up at carousel 14. You are able to use your cell phones at this time. Thank you for flying Big Apple Airlines and Welcome to Chicago.” Click
Yes! Right on time…
