I see a lot of posts here by people wanting to fit in, make friends etc. and in theory, that’s fine, each to their own. Me, I’m thinking that I’m becoming increasingly okay with who I am. I recently had the misfortune of taking a necessary flight from Amsterdam to Boston, and what I experienced during that day was more than enough to reassert my feelings of wanting to give society as a whole the finger. Let me take you through the day in a not-so-brief documentation of what happened:
I get to the security line at the airplane around noon, where a gross, balding lady with armpit stains proceeds to interrogate me with questions that are intended to weed me, a potential terrorist, from regular travelers. She then groans in frustration as I tell her I don’t have my “e-ticket” on me. Finally I pull something resembling an itinerary from my bag whereupon she snatches it from me and goes “that’s what I wanted all along!” Yes, because I woke up that morning with the express intention of making your life miserable that day, you crotchety old hag. Give me a break.
Finally I get to my seat and am instantly overwhelmed by the nauseating fumes of those seated around me. It smells like a combination of diarrhea and dried-up menstrual blood. How people can not properly wash themselves before stepping onto a plane absolutely baffles me. It was like being in a cattle barn. Just as I’m getting used to the smell, this odorous old lady seats herself next to me and places her carry-on bag underneath the seat in front of me. Now I’m a tall guy, and already very cramped and anxious, and she has no qualms about blithely dumping her shit into what little foot-room I initially had. It’s like, you’ve been on this earth for probably seventy years and are constantly bitching about youngsters and their lack of manners, now you’re suddenly okay with being so rude yourself? Never mind that she’s around three foot eight and has all the space in the world to stretch out in while I'm sitting there like a fucking sardine for the next eight hours.
Upon settling at cruising altitude I begin to think the worst of it is probably all over. Not so. The cart that whizzes up and down the miniature airplane aisle catches me squarely in the shoulder during a particularly speedy round of drinks. How can those irritating stewardesses conjure up fake smile after fake smile, ingratiating pleasantry after ingratiating pleasantry, and then not notice when they’ve pretty much dislocated a passenger’s shoulder? No, I don’t want your stupid coffee after you’ve practically booked me into the chiropractor. Save your dumb spiel for someone who’s uninjured. The rest of the flight was characterized by me gritting my teeth in agitation at people who do things like point at their little headrest screens and go “oh look, we’re flying over Halifax, Canada, at a speed of approximately 570 miles per hour” to their equally goofy neighbors.
Man, I know this account makes me sound like a major whiner, but I had to get this off my chest. I don’t even know for sure what’s normal and what’s me being intolerant anymore. In any case, people are the worst, and I think I’ll be content to lock myself away again for the forseeable future after this experience.
I get to the security line at the airplane around noon, where a gross, balding lady with armpit stains proceeds to interrogate me with questions that are intended to weed me, a potential terrorist, from regular travelers. She then groans in frustration as I tell her I don’t have my “e-ticket” on me. Finally I pull something resembling an itinerary from my bag whereupon she snatches it from me and goes “that’s what I wanted all along!” Yes, because I woke up that morning with the express intention of making your life miserable that day, you crotchety old hag. Give me a break.
Finally I get to my seat and am instantly overwhelmed by the nauseating fumes of those seated around me. It smells like a combination of diarrhea and dried-up menstrual blood. How people can not properly wash themselves before stepping onto a plane absolutely baffles me. It was like being in a cattle barn. Just as I’m getting used to the smell, this odorous old lady seats herself next to me and places her carry-on bag underneath the seat in front of me. Now I’m a tall guy, and already very cramped and anxious, and she has no qualms about blithely dumping her shit into what little foot-room I initially had. It’s like, you’ve been on this earth for probably seventy years and are constantly bitching about youngsters and their lack of manners, now you’re suddenly okay with being so rude yourself? Never mind that she’s around three foot eight and has all the space in the world to stretch out in while I'm sitting there like a fucking sardine for the next eight hours.
Upon settling at cruising altitude I begin to think the worst of it is probably all over. Not so. The cart that whizzes up and down the miniature airplane aisle catches me squarely in the shoulder during a particularly speedy round of drinks. How can those irritating stewardesses conjure up fake smile after fake smile, ingratiating pleasantry after ingratiating pleasantry, and then not notice when they’ve pretty much dislocated a passenger’s shoulder? No, I don’t want your stupid coffee after you’ve practically booked me into the chiropractor. Save your dumb spiel for someone who’s uninjured. The rest of the flight was characterized by me gritting my teeth in agitation at people who do things like point at their little headrest screens and go “oh look, we’re flying over Halifax, Canada, at a speed of approximately 570 miles per hour” to their equally goofy neighbors.
Man, I know this account makes me sound like a major whiner, but I had to get this off my chest. I don’t even know for sure what’s normal and what’s me being intolerant anymore. In any case, people are the worst, and I think I’ll be content to lock myself away again for the forseeable future after this experience.