True Stories From 33,000 Feet
Last night I flew from Charlotte to Phoenix on Flight 311. It was a full flight. It was a little late. No big.
When the flight attendant made his PA apologizing for the late departure, some guy in row 4 announces loudly that "he won't be flying this crappy airline again". OK fine.
Later, when the pilot came on for his PA, the guys bellows some more.
When one of the incredibly busy flight attendants serves him, he is rewarded by being called a "cocktail waitress".
When we land during the welcome PA, the Prince of Row 4 reminds everyone again very loudly of his displeasure. I left thinking I was free of the guy.
When I get to the baggage claim he is already there smoking a cigarette in a crowd of passengers. Everyone is giving him hate rays.
He is oblivious, after all, the world is his stage. He regales his co-worker (poor fellow) how he "told off that big (ethnic slur)" steward. He swishes his hips to add emphasis, suggesting that the attendant was effeminate.
My stomach churned. I gave him my best patented stink eye.
He is clearly inebriated. My mom, rest her soul, would have referred to him as "a real piece of work".
His wife is there to pick him up and is looking sheepish, clearly embarassed. She should be.
She should leave him.
If you go to the dictionary, go to "J", and look up the word "Jerk", there is a picture of him. He isn't cute. He is a bigmouthed, selfish, spoiled buffoon.
So I offer this to the hardworking flight crews out there (especially the crew of Flight 311 last night). On behalf of the remaining 149 passengers, whom you so graciously served, thank you!
Roadboy's Travel's © 2009