Sunday, August 14, 2011

The Bus of the Skies

Airplanes and I should be natural friends. A trans-Atlantic flight is an excuse to sit down for 8 hours. And There's a TV right in front of me with over four movies on it! People come to bring me snacks and pop at my convenience and you're never more than 20ft. from a bathroom. Ah, luxury.

Yet every time I cram my booty into one of those seats a deep not of terror strikes in my very being. Maybe watching Lost the day before my trip was a mistake. What if we crash into the ocean or what if they run out of ice? The person next to me could have rheumatic fever, leprosy or irritable bowel syndrome. There is no way to be certain.

That baby at the front of coach seems to be upset for some reason. What if that baby can sense plane crashes and is trying to warn the crew?! Is it just me or is that creaking noise getting louder? Was it just me or was there a shaggy alien perched on the wing a second ago? Also, where is my sprite? I beeped the air hostess over 6 minutes ago!!!

Maybe I should try to sleep.

I hate waking up to the sound of my own snoring. Everyone on this plane heard my snoring. It sounded like a cement mixer. Also I feel like a seagull made a nest inside my mouth. Sleeping was a terrible idea. Maybe I can lean my head against the fold out tray. Hmm not unless I can stretch my neck like a giraffe. Maybe I can lean against the window. Well, those vibrations are not conducive to sleep.

I am 3397 miles from home, my hair is a state, and I feel like the greasiest chip from the bottom of the bag. And I won't be able to shower for another...15 hours.

The good news is I've landed in Dublin.

Chavs are the worst thing ever invented.

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