The Mile High Club
I don’t mind airplanes, in fact, I rather enjoy them. People tend to fascinate me so sitting next to a stranger for a few hours, in close confines, breathing the same recycled oxygen is sort of ideal. Last weekend on our way to L.A. for my daughter's cheerleading competition, I had one of the best flights EVER. We were about thirty minutes into the flight when I had to use the bathroom. I climbed over Mike and accidentally whacked him in the balls when the pilot hit some turbulence. I steadied myself and made it back to the bathroom just as some guy was exiting. I started to unbutton my pants when I realized there was a stranded poop watching me from inside the toilet. Omg. That guy freaking shat on an airplane.
I stood there momentarily bewildered as my brain feverishly tried to apply logic to a clearly illogical situation. Considering this was a well-formed poo, that did not display any characteristics necessitating an emergency landing, I could only assume that this man had violated some federal aviation law. I flushed and flushed until the vile atrocity was finally sucked down, and I was able to pee.
As soon as I was finished, I opened the door and promptly informed the hot, young, and surprisingly heterosexual male flight attendant standing there that, “I did NOT poop in there, the guy in front of me did. Like he actually POOPED on an airplane.” He started laughing, and I knew we were going to be great friends for the duration of the flight.
A few minutes passed when my new flight attendant friend came by carrying a tray filled with coffee cups. I wasn’t really paying attention when he then proceeded to spill the entire tray on Mike’s lap and began profusely apologizing. To my sheer delight, I realized the cups were empty. Wait. A flight attendant played a joke? Impossible. Humor is counterintuitive to their nature. He then asked if I would like to be his assistant. I batted my lashes, put my hand to my chest and coyly responded with,“Why yes. I would positively love to be your assistant.” Eeeeeeeeee! Mike rolled his eyes as I climbed over him, nailing him in the sack once again.
The flight attendant instructed me to go up to the front of the plane and “accidentally” bump him, so he could spill more fake coffee on other passengers. Which I happily obliged. Because hi, fun. And, for the first and only time in airline history, no babies were crying, nobody was bitching about their seats, all portable electronic devices were turned off and properly stowed, trays were up and in their locked positions, and the flight attendant had everyone’s undivided attention. For a few glorious seconds, an entire plane of passengers was united (on a Southwest flight) in an emotion referred to as happiness (?). (Calm down, it was only temporary. I definitely resumed my thinking about just how messed up someone has to be to poop on a plane.)
I am not entirely sure what I did to deserve my life however, I am a firm believer in karma. I can only assume that I must have been rather spectacular during my last life. XO
コメント