I know I said that the last time I flew into town, and I definitely mentioned something about it the time before that, but seriously, I feel like every time you come to pick me up at the airport, it’s like I was just a passenger on a snake-ridden, turbulent, hybrid Hindenburg/Air Force One pirate-copter that is on a one-way flight to DOOOOOM!
First things first: there’s a baby. Oh God, and of course the baby cries, because babies don’t know to keep quiet when I’m around trying to catch up on Cosmo’s “Ways to Please Your Man Without Easing Up on Emotional Manipulation.” And I’m not really sitting in the window or the aisle, I’m sitting in that middle seat so I don’t really get a good perspective except for the balding witch-head guy in front of me, like, what’s his problem? Why does he have to sit upright enough so that I have to look at his zombie-fied, decaying-before-my-eyes skull? What an asshat.
Not only that, but, they were delayed for maintenance. Maintenance! I can’t believe they have to upgrade and inspect the planes at such an inconvenient time. I understand you want the plane to be in an optimal condition before you fly, but do you really have to make it so right before we fly? That just seems counterintui-whatever-that-word-is.
So, we finally get off the ground after waiting for about fifteen minutes, and then the baby starts crying, and I asked to have a complimentary ginger ale but they only had Sprite. The nerve! I had to drink Sprite…for free! When we land, of course, my baggage is the last one to come down because hey, there’s just something about jetBlue where like, every single time, my luggage is the last one through the chute. I don’t know why, but it always is, don’t even ask. Ugh, worst ninety minutes of my life.
So frickin’ terrible. So, how was your three-hour car ride to come get me?
