You know what I love about airports? The incredibly small chance that I will see anyone here ever again----which authorizes some truly shameless behavior on my part. TSA wants me to take my shoes off? Fine. I’ll just walk around barefoot the whole time I’m here. I also feel like the stress of travel (and the fact that no one I know can see me eat) justifies some truly nasty nutritional choices. Hey, might as well give the TSA some extra cushion for the 4th Amendment violations, am I right? Add to that the fact that I’m stretched as emotionally thin as possible, and dress like a total slob so I can be comfortable on the plane. Fierce.
So if your typical airport experience involves wincing at a bloated girl in stained sweatpants and Sesame Street tshirt, walking around in mismatched fuzzy socks while crying and simultaneously eating a pretzel dog and one of those Starbucks drinks that doesn’t even have coffee in it for Christ’s sake, then Congratulations. You are probably one of those ‘commuter people’ who wear freakin’ ties and/or heels to the airport. Which, come to think of it, I’ve never seen in real life. That is, the ties/heels combo, the standard for fancy airline stewardesses, and possibly the most uncomfortable formal wear not involving whale bones or footbinding. You’re choking, and you can’t walk. I’m actually surprised more hijacking and airplane violence doesn’t come from the stewardesses. Especially when I’m on the flight, and I start to cry when you don’t have Diet Dr Pepper. Trust me, I’m not this unstable at a normal elevation.
P.S. Who are you, tiny-dog-in-a-bag-girl? Do they not make kennels small enough for your dog? Here’s a tip: if your dog needs a babysitter/sweater/daily suppositories, get a real dog. Don’t they euthanize real dogs when they get to the point where they need that kind of care, just to preserve their dignity? And if you’re going to bring your portable squeaking shit machine, please sedate the damn thing while I have to sit next to it.
My sunny outlook on travel has not prevented me from flying frequently cross-country, due to my professional/family situation, but unfortunately it hasn’t improved much the more I have to do it.
I can only imagine if I were the person who wrote travel articles, you’d pull the euphemistically named airline magazine (like “Hemispheres,” or “Adventure,” instead of something descriptive like “TrytoForgetThatYou’reSpendingHundredsforthePossibilityYouMayGoCrashingDowninFlames”) and instead of spas you can't afford or celebrity interviews with people you haven't heard of, the articles would be shit like:
“Airsickness and Making Friends: Who to Ask to Hold the Bag While You Vomit”
“Why You Just Might Want to Check Those Arabic Textbooks”
“Crying on Public Transportation: How to Make Sure No One Calls the Police”
“Nobody Take the Brown Dramamine!: Navigating Chicago O’Hare While Legally High Out of Your Mind”
“How to Rebuff the ‘Bible Lady’ Without Inspiring an Impromptu Exorcism”
“How to Slip Benadryl to Other People’s Children Surreptitiously”
Then again, if I wrote travel articles, no one who read them would ever go anywhere ever again.
“You may have heard rave reviews of the nightlife and fabulous shopping opportunities available in Midtown Manhattan. If I drank as much Sambuca as those hairspray-huffing, iBanker-in-training, Jersey Shore-lookin’ douchebags, I’d probably spend all my time in Midtown, too, so I could avoid regular people from NJ with lanterns and pitchforks trying to hunt down Snooki/defend their good name...”
Finally, once I have arrived (like right now), I totally have to milk the “I just travelled all day” excuse to continue eating and acting like a slob. Off to watch garbage television in my sweat pants.
