I just flew into Texas… and boy are my arms tired.
No really, like, they’re cramped up and sore from literally gripping the arm rest and the arms of the big hairy guy next to me for 2 hours and 20 minutes as I tried to mentally keep the airplane in the air.
The guy to my right with a hook for a hand was flossing his teeth. And the pilot was all, sorry for the delay, we’re making sure the wings are balanced and, like attached, and not made of play-dough er whatever.
I’m usually not entirely picky what airline I fly on, I mean, I google if they seem less crashy and all, but honestly, I usually gravitate for the cheapest direct flight I can find. I’d fly Keanu Reeves Express Air if it was a good price, wasn’t shaped like a phone booth, and they didn’t have a Chicago layover, because O’Hare collects connecting flights like fucking Gollum.
But, I gotta say, Spirit… not a fan.
I’m just a nervous flyer, ya know, so when it feels, physically, like I’m already in a coffin, it just sorta sets a tone of death for the rest of the flight.
So, long story short, I spent almost three hours flying through, over and around storms, as I clung to the gentle ginger man next to me, who generously offered his arm to me, and said things like…
Oh it’s totally normal to swing side to side like this.
Planes get struck by lightening all the time.
It’s like pot holes in the sky.
You know what, stop it. It’s not like pot holes in the sky. I know the data, ok yeah fine, flying is safer than driving, but the difference is, driving happens on the ground, flying happens in the air, and in my opinion, the only way out of that situation is down, and I’d rather not go there.
So, I began drinking until we landed in Dallas 40 minutes late.
Thanks for letting me hold onto your arm, Louis.
My name’s Eric.
Yes, like the Little Mermaid, you showed me a whole new world.
I think that’s Aladdin?
Whatever, thank you.
No problem, I mean… the other guy had a hook arm, sooo….
And then I hugged him.
I have no idea how I’m getting home.