Gate 8 Steam of Consciousness
It is my belief that airports who don’t provide free wifi access are, in fact, evil communist dictators who feel the need to profit share from the evil t-mobile companies of the world, which in turn screws over fliers who have no desire to pay 39.99 a month for airport wifi. In theory it works, but in reality, it’s a bloody pain in the ass.
On a lighter note, there is a really vain woman sitting across from me, and she has been doing her make up for about 15 minutes now. She’s about 45 years old, obvious smoker, obvious self-conscious issues. Oops. I was talking about her and she got up. Maybe she can read my mind. Also, I hate the people with the big ass carryon luggage who feel the need to roll their pathetic asses across my feet. I have long legs; pick another fucking space to roll in. Then again, common decency died years ago.
I have little love for the airport. There always seems to be the same people. There is always one male and one female sitting at the gate, talking on their cell phone to a person that sound like they have not seen in 10 years, and thusly feel the need to relate every single life experience they have had in ten years to said person on the phone. At the current moment, you have about five people on their cell phone, and one of them is using their Bluetooth headset, and keeps looking at me with this begrudging look. Maybe it’s because I’ve noticed her idiocy. Oops. My mistake.
Eventually I just break down and shove the headphones in my ear, and sit with a clear view of the gate so I can see when the cattle call that is Southwest airlines is about to begin. I would kill for assigned seats, really I would. A nice assigned window seat, where I don’t have to make sure I get in the A boarding group just to have a shit chance in hell of sitting by myself. I do tend to scare people off, so maybe I will get a row to myself. Also, it is the airplane rule that you look despondent so that no one feels the need to share your life story with you. Call me crazy, but if I’m never going to see you again, I don’t want you pretending to be Forest fucking Gump. I just want a nice, quick hour flight in silence with my 4 ounce plastic cup of diet coke and my painfully poorly dry roasted peanuts.
Vain woman is back…and she is on her cell phone. I thought evolution was supposed to take care of people like that. “Hey! Oh, I’m at the airport!” Unfortunately if I were to scream ’shut the fuck up, you stupid hag whore’, I might get kicked off the flight. That would be bad.
Oh shit. The requisite cowboy has showed up. You know what I’m talking about, the man, about 40 years old, wearing his tight ass wrangler nut huggers with the white Stetson. While he might impress people in other states, people in Texas know that he’s never set foot on a ranch, ridden a horse, or done other cowboy like activities. In fact, I’m pretty sure most people in Texas are embarrassed by him, because he is the reason that people from around the world think we ride our horses to work and eat out at the chuckwagon, ya reckon?
I hate the people who start lining up before the plane even gets here. What the hell are they going to board? Is the jet way going to fly them to Amarillo? Are they going to get there any sooner?
It occurs to me that I don’t need to be at airports that often. I tend to get a bit angry.
