Report from Phoenix

I'm in desert country.  "On a dark dessert highway, Cool Whip in my hair."  So it's not original, I still think it's funny. 

Incidentally, the Girlfriend and I almost didn't make it here.  Read on, folks.

I have never had to wait three hours to take off on an airplane.  On the other hand, I've never had the opportunity to enjoy flying through a raging snowstorm, either.  Wednesday saw the biggest snowstorm Chicago's seen in four years, and The Girlfriend and I had to leave in the middle of it. 

The good news was plenty, however:

1. We weren't flying from O'Hare, where over 700 flights were cancelled and dozens of people spent the night on cots generously provided by the airport. We were leaving from Midway, a much smaller airport with a less moral approach to flying.  "We gotta blizzard out there!  What we gonna do?  Ah, fuck it.  Let's fly through this shit."

2. The Girlfriend and I brought along a lot of books, just in case.  In fact, we were loaded with lit, prepared for any emergency.  "Holy shit!  A window blew out!"  "Quick, stuff this Marie Claire into the breach!"  "But honey, I haven't gotten to that article about Kirsten Dunst's dye job!" 

Unfortunately, all the quality literature in the world couldn't save us from three hours of either waiting for the plane or sitting in the plane, listening to codgers behind us muttering curses and unsuccessfully trying to purge them from our minds. 

I'm not good at sitting still.  I'm even less talented at sitting still while waiting for the plane to take off.  As a result, I'm not good at flying.  Personally, I could never start an airplane riot, but once it began, I would be the one pelting the navigator with a barrage of stale snack boxes. 

Speaking of snack boxes, why do airlines even bother?  My advice: if you don't want to spend the money to feed us, that's fine.  I'm not insulted by the lack of meal service.  Airline food was never very good to begin with, unless you sat in first class. And snack boxes?  Fuck snack boxes.  Nothing is more depressing than a "snack" consisting of peanuts, fruit chews, six Oreo cookies, and cheese crackers.  All I needed to complete the experience of fifth-grade lunch was a bologna sandwich and a Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox.  Maybe, while waiting for the plane to get de-iced for the second time, we could move the seats aside for some four-square or tetherball.  That goes double for you, American Airlines, with your "Bistro Box."  Skip the junk food and stick with the drinks unless we're flying to somewhere further away, like New Zealand.   

We finally made it to Phoenix, exhausted and cranky, three hours late. We met up with my mother and aunt at the luggage retrieval area.  I was bowled over with how they looked; my aunt has lost a LOT of weight thanks to Weight Watchers; over 70 pounds, in fact.  Today she let out a scream of joy outside the Bali factory outlet after buying new bras six sizes and a full cup smaller than she wore less than a year before, startling nearby shoppers.  Hey, she earned it.  My mom is thin as a rail and *still* gets shocked looks from cashiers when I, a 34-year old, refer to her as my mother.  Of course, I'd be shocked myself if confronted with a mother who looks ten years younger and a son who looks like, let's face it, an old codger. 

Fact is, they both look great, they put me to shame in the youthful energy department, and I've been drinking ever since.  More later.

Comments

[Steph]

So far, so good.

That was quite the sumptuous buffet as far as airline snacks go, compared to our flights in the last year.

I'm sure your mom, aunt, and Tori will have a blast picking on you from sunup to sundown every day. :-) Bonding, you know.