Part 1 A (Boston to Phoenix ...and not River)
"This is your Captain speaking... As you probably noticed, we're sitting here on the runway. I apologize for the delay but there appears to be ..well, a scratch on the plane and the maintenance crews are coming out to inspect it. I don't really feel that is a concern but, due to FAA regulations, they need to inspect and then sign off on it, saying that they see that the aircraft is fit to fly. If they don't feel that it's safe then it will need to be repaired. Not sure what is going on with that as of right now but I will tell you as soon as I find out."
And that began my flight to the Californian coast. Well, really it began when I got into the airport two hours too early. I checked my bag in and the gentleman who was helping me looked at his screen, then me, then his screen again and said: "Your on the 4:50 flight to Phoenix?"
"Yes"
"Well your here awful early.."
A part of me wanted to blurt out "Ohhhhh really?!?! Am I?!?! I had no idea for you see I can not read a watch nor do I understand the concept of time! Thank you oh so much Mr. Captain Obvious! Please can someone here please get this man a medal or, at the very least, a scout badge!!!! Obvious for President in 2012! Come on, everybody, obvious for President in 2012!" Instead of the seemingly unending monologue that was forming in my head I just nodded and was on my way, grumbling underneath my breath.
Finally we took off and I tried to sit back and relax. I say try because I always seem to forget, every time I fly, that I can't stand people....and a plane is nothing more then a flying locker, full of people. It isn't something that I do out right. I don't sit down and say: "Well, time to become insta-prick and really get angry at these fucktards. Where the hell is that drink cart?!?!". Instead it happens slowly, from some nimrod spouting out something stupid. But I'm getting ahead of myself. After the turbulence during the initial take off, which felt like god was adamantly opposed to us leaving the ground so he decided to hold us down with his hand, the plane was almost completely quiet. A couple diagonally across from me were watching a show that I used to watch and I instantly became homesick. The beautiful movie playing in my head of being snuggled up on my bed, watching and laughing at jokes we made was soon to be interrupted. By what you ask? The Captain saying they were low on snacks and so the few remaining ones were going for $22? Aliens? No. Worse...much worse... A five hour (yes, FIVE hour) long conversation between a man and a woman that made me feel so much rage inside that I swore some passenger was going to have the stewards escort me to the back of the plane for interrogation by an air marshal. "Excuse me that young man doesn't look quite right? I've never seen so much hatred for an albino man with the squirrel face and a fake indie hipster chick. Why can't they do their verbal "Look what I do/fuck me" dance ad nauseum in peace?!?!"
Five hours.....fiiiiivvvveeee hours. They kept talking, loudly, about their money then their significant others, then their money, then the significant others (who were quickly losing their significance), then the people they knew who knew other people who knew REAL people. You know, the famous people that are household names. The real people. As they kept trying to impress each other I could feel myself running out of patience. I quickly grabbed my Ipod, with all the haste of a diabetic looking for their insulin, and listened to Anthrax's "Inside Out" mainly because the music video was a re-make of a Twilight Zone classic, in which a man on a plane sees a monster on the wing. In this case the monsters were behind me. I tried to ignore them and, thus in my attempt, started thinking. Man, was that ever a bad idea. My head was spinning and I was thinking into over time. Wasn't this why I was leaving, so I wouldn't be thinking? So I wouldn't be like this? As I undid my seat belt in order to turn around and politely tell the hipsters behind me to shut the flying fuck up (pun intended) the Captain came on and said that we would be beginning our decent into Phoenix. I fell back into my seat hard enough that the junk on her tray fell. Oh well, maybe the next flight will be a little better.
part 1 B (Phoenix to San Francisco)
Due to the "scratch" incident in Boston we were late arriving in Phoenix. Not a big deal except that I had to catch a connecting flight. So I ran what I like to call the Travelers Marathon. This is where I run through a man made obstacle course in order to be thrown into a airbus. Even though I had some extra time I decided to run it anyway. It's a good thing I did. Apparently, the plane I was flying to San Fran on had arrived in Phoenix early and decided to board early.
Once seated the Captain came on and started talking. He sounded like a drunk Jim Henson. "We have comp...complimentary beverages and snacks.................we're selling. We're selling snacks."
No, you're not selling snacks. A vendor sells snacks. You are flying a god damn plane.
"Now we're going to go over some.......safety..procedures. You will notice their are multiple exits on the plane. There are two in the front, four on the sides...."
Here the stewardesses look at each other then look back at us and shake their heads. They proceed to tell us there are two exits on the sides.
"..once again that's two exits on the front, four exits on the sides.."
Two exits on the sides. Is this guy new? I mean, each pilot has a first day. Could this be his? I look down and notice, on the arm rest, an ash tray. Son of a bitch how old is this plane? Suddenly a sound which is identical to the sound of my Pontiac 6000 LE dying starts to come from the wing on my side. This guy who looks like a "gangsta" looks at me. His face is now washed white and pale. "Yo, what's that sound?"
"Got me man." I said. He began to nervously flip back and forth the metal ash tray lid. Clearly I wasn't the only one wondering why we were flying in a plane christened by Ronald Reagan, before the "forgetful" years. As we took off I looked down and the landing lights began to slowly drift off below until they were merely sparkling stars, joined by street lights, cars and houses, twinkling in the desert sands. I looked down and wondered about all those lives below me. I wondered about home.
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