Con Air

While posted after the fact, I felt it's only genuine if I write it as I think it. So here, unadulterated, is the flight:

As I write this, a small child asks me, “What is the mile-high club?” I tell her its like First Class, only better. I have a reputation for corrupting youth that I need to uphold. You remember That Guy, the kid in elementary school who taught the others how to find internet porn? That’s me.

The child’s curiosity is my own fault. You those safety videos at the start of the flight? They talk about how smoking is forbidden in the bathrooms, but they never explicitly say that fucking is forbidden. This question has haunted me my entire life. I asked the little girl’s mom (kinda a MILF), but she was just as dumbstruck yet curious as I. If anyone actually knows, please tell me. I’ll honestly be grateful.

Long trips can get dull, and this is even longer than my drive to St Louis. Atleast there, I had my father’s antics to keep my company. My only company now is an alcoholic mother and her accidental spawn. Worst still, I’ve lost a day. (Fucking International Date Line). But more than that, this is the first time I’ve spent more than 24 hours either waiting on, waiting in, or getting on a plane. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get off too. It’s better than first class.

Of course, I have survival strategies. For one, I’ve only slept about 4 hours in 2 days. I also enjoyed margaritas before my Physics final (believe it or not, it’s a grade-enhancer). If that fails, I’ve got a dozen sleeping pills. Maybe buy a few of those bottle shots over international waters. I’ll either be knocked out or go into respiratory arrest, but it’ll be a peaceful flight one way or the other.

There’s also stolen TV to watch on my computer: Weeds, Psych, Doctor Who (I’m not ashamed), and the entire series of Queer As Folk. Now would probably be the best time to watch, with 7-year-old girl peering over my shoulder. I’m sure her “Birds and Bees” talk never involved rimming.

Then again, I could be wrong. Her mom just offered me a beer. I declined, wishing to save my money for my future overdose, but confessed to her my desire to go shot-for-shot with my mom one day. I could so drink that lightweight under the table.

Anyway, I’m being a little bitch and I know it. It’s too early to be complaining. This flight from St Louis to Los Angeles is simply foreplay. The 16 hour trans-Pacific is where I’ll really need endurance. I suppose that makes Unisom my numbing cream. Then again, this is where it gets fun. My laptop only has 3 hours of charge, give or take. The power chargers are only available in First Class. Us cows in coach will just need to make do with Sudoku. I can’t accept that. I don’t even like Sudoku. The only answer is to slip into First Class. But you know those pricks in pressed pants exist mainly to keep us cows behind the curtain. Unless I can wow them with alliteration, I have about 16 hours to figure out how to perform the most insignificant crime of my life.

In the meanwhile, its just back to missing the good old days. When children were seen and not heard.

And Mom, if you’re reading this, I know I make you proud.