This edition of Airplane Venom goes out to the loud-ass women seated in seats 9A-D, 10 A-D, & 11 B on American Airlines Flt. #2746 from Little Rock, AR to Dallas Fort Worth:
Why were you so loud? It was 5:40 in the morning when the flight took off, but y’all were already on “10” by the time you got to the waiting area. How?… Why?
I know way more about you women than I want to. I felt like I was Bill Cosby and y’all were Jeffrey:
Things I know about you but wish I didn’t: I know you “hadn’t never flew on no plane this tiny.” I know all of your astrological signs and your horoscopes for today. I know one of you was frightened to death of flying and “forgot those damn ‘Xanax-es’ on the counter.” I know you were headed to Vegas…
But what I want to know is: Which of my sins you were punishment for? So I never, ever do it again. Were you ignoring — or just oblivious to the barrage of STFU stares and huffing coming at you from every direction?… And how it’s possible that every single one of you sounded like Boomhauer from King of the Hill…
Have you ever seen those news stories where people do unthinkable things and their only excuse is “I don’t know what came over me?” Well, this morning, “I don’t know what” almost came over me. And I honestly don’t know how I stopped him. Those ladies have no idea how lucky they were.
To the turd that was seated in 15-D on American Airlines Flt. 1624 to Chicago O’Hare on Wednesday evening, I have one word for you — Valium.
Best I can tell, you’re taking a nap now, and I swear I’m so tempted to get up and take a photo of you once the fasten seatbelt sign goes off. I might just. But what I’m definitely gonna do, if I can catch you on the way off the plane, is give you one of my postcards so that you can read this blog once I post it. I used to be scared to do asshole-ish stuff like that… Like right now in this moment, the conservative Erin hologram on my left shoulder is whispering in my ear and saying, “Leave it alone, E. Yeah, that guy was a douche, but don’t stoop to his level.” But the bitchy Erin on my right shoulder is screaming in my ear and saying, “Get him, E! This is great for the act. Plus it’ll serve as equilibrium for punking out on that flight from O’Hare to Baltimore a couple weeks ago.
Now I know none of you know what the heck I’m talking about so here’s the background…
I was having a fine day. Found a laundry room at the hotel and did laundry so I didn’t have to travel to Indy with dirty clothes. Got to LAX and returned the rental car with plenty of time to spare. My bag which I was positive was gonna be overweight came in at 49.5 pounds. And my large tube of Extra Dry Skin Curel made it thru airport security — What? I get a little ashy when I fly. :)
I boarded the plane and put my bookbag under the seat in front of me. I also had a small plastic bag with a sweatshirt I bought in the airport and my coat. I put the coat and the plastic bag in the bin above my head. About 5-10 minutes after I’m all settled, an older gentleman a few rows ahead of me asks if he can move my sweatshirt and coat to a bin a little forward of his seat so that he could fit his bag in the one over my head. OK, dude. Sure. Thought nothing of it, put my iPod on. About 2 or 3 minutes after that the aforementioned douche a few rows up starts having a tantrum about how a coat and a bag mysteriously “jumped into” his compartment. He said something to the effect of “I was trying to make room for a real bag.” — which of course meant ‘his’ carry-on suitcase. I told him it was mine, but explained that I didn’t move it. Then he started huffing and puffing about not wanting to “be in charge of everyone’s stuff.” WTF, right? So I said, “What do u mean be in charge of it? Just close the… bin!” Now the ellipses are important because they show you where and how I edited myself. I didn’t see any kids, but my reflexive profanity would have still been inappropriate I’m sure. Continue reading →