So here I am, in a state on the west coast, getting ready for 2 weeks of training for the day job. I have plush corporate apartment, sharing with one of my coworkers. Its pretty cool for the most part, but would be much better if I had Mrs. Ninjamunkey and the baby munkey here to share the bed with me. Yeah I know, odd. So I decided I would post the first of my west coast blogs, and share what I was writing on the plane. Enjoy, and I will be back tomorrow. Hopefully.
As I write this, I am in the air, apparently going over some “sky roads” that need serious repair. I have been jostled every which way, and it kinda sucks, since I hate flying so much. Its not the taking off, or the landing that bug me, its actually the fact that I am shoved into a seat, crammed in and there are arm rests on either side of me, but apparently I am not to use either one of them.
My dad used to tell me to imagine that I was just one a bus going down a really bumpy road, and it would help with the anxiety I felt. Well its smells like urine in here, so its either because I am so close to the john, or it’s the old woman to my left. Wait, has she breathed in a while?
I was scanning the lobby of the airport trying to figure out who the other Mac heads were, but everyone was writing something on a Mac laptop, so who knows. Will I be the oldest? Will I fit in? shit, I speak geek with the best of them, so hell yeah I am going to fit in.
This flight sucks for the record. I am perched next to the engine,, literally, I look past the person on my right, and I see engine. Does not provide great acoustics for watching a movie. So I am rocking out to some Peter Westerberg and writing. Seems like a fair trade off.
Ah yeah she is still breathing, just took off her hearing aide…
So getting on, I notice that everyone in the earlier rows looks you over, as if you are a potential risk. I know what they are thinking, I do it to. Who am I going to have to overpower if they try to take the plane. My vote is for gramma as the skymarshal. She is deeeeeeeeeep under cover.
I have always heard or read those “dear penthouse, we were on a returning flight, and she began taking off her blouse” type of things. HOW? I am crammed in the seat, cannot feel my ass, and would have to knock out 4 people if I were to sneeze. How does that work? Is it like the hot pizza girl that always gives sexual favors in exchange for the pizza and tip?
So leaving today was uncomfortable, because the baby munkey was screaming “Daddy! I wanna go with you or you stay here!!!!!” for the final 5 minutes with the family. Apparently he was subdued with a promise of the park as they were leaving, but it made me feel bad for a while. Then the questions started.
Sir, have you been in possession of your luggage for the past 24 hours? Do you have any firearms, explosives, knifes or playdoh on your person? Do you have any fruit in your luggage that might make the cargo hold rally stinky? Are those bugle boy jeans you are wearing? How soon is now?
Its fun going through the second security stop on the way to the gate. I actually had this brilliant idea to check in, make sure the gate was correct, and go catch a smoke before the flight, but after having to take my shoes, belt , hat, turn on the laptop camera ipod and show that the thumdrives were actual drives, I did not want to fight with it again, so I waited.