I do. not. like. to. fly.
It just doesn’t seem natural to me, ya know? Being stuck up in the air with a bunch of strangers all breathing in the same sour air.
And I ask myself questions like this: What happens if the plane runs out of gas? What if the pilot & co-pilot fall the sleep? What if we the dude sitting in the third seat down from me resembling Bin Laden is a terrorist?
Generally nobody in my family wants to sit by me.
And if they do, they typically end up giving me their alcoholic drinks to shut me the hell up.
“Just stop talking silliness, Kim. The plane is not going to run out of petrol,” Mr. L. says.
On the way back from Vegas, I feel pretty composed.
I can handle it. No problem. A 3 hour flight is nothing compared to flying to Europe or something like that.
I’m even beginning to sleep ever-so-lightly— when suddenly……
The chick sitting in the back of me taps my shoulder uttering, “Excuuuse me, but did you spill something?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I say.
“Really?” I check my makeup bag.
“Something leaked all over my bag.” Miss. Chick mutters.
I rummage thru my carry on bag. I have NO liquid inside.
“Did you spill your coffee?” She asks me.
“It smells like coffee.”
I can hear her sniffing like a fucking rabbit.
“I smell coffee. Did you order coffee? ” She asks.
“No. I. Did. Not.” I say slowly, deliberately.
I ignore her.
What the hell does the bitch want from me—-a full page confession?
“My bag smells like coffee.” She mumbles.
I can’t look at her. I’m becoming quite annoyed.
When we’re almost ready to land, I hear Miss Chick scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.
Scouring. Scouring. Scouring.
I feel guilty for something I didn’t do.
Sort of like when a police car pulls up to the side of your car and you feel naughty for nothin’.
She keeps knocking my seat hard as she rubs & I know damn well she wishes it were my head.
I hear her tell the airline hostess that Soooomebody spilled coffee all over her new bag.
I want to turn around and say, “IT WASN’T ME, YOU bitchy -Tattletale -blamer –mean- icky-yucky person!!”
But I stare forward like a little chicken shit.
On the way to pick up our luggage, I ask daddy if he heard Miss Chick bitching about the coffee.
I’ve seen that smile before.
As it turns out, he had half a cup of Starbucks under his seat.
Miss Chick, If you’re reading this blog, a mug shot of the “coffee spiller” is below.
— (“Starbuck’s Coffee Spiller” is the one on the far Left…. Never Forget That Cute Face !!
–Dear Reader, have you ever been in a situation simular to Miss Chick or Myself?