Ooooh. I get to use the “travel” category for the first time.
If anyone ever wants to feel like cattle, you can visit terminal C at the Atlanta airport for an accurate recreation. I’m litteraly sitting on the floor, eating a cookie, wanting for the flight from Atlanta to Boston to board.
The flight from Houston was uneventful, if you don’t count the 300lbs angry redneck women filming themselves with a camcorder. Or the black kid behind me smacking his head into the back of my seat. Besides that it was absolutely peachy.
I don’t understand fat, angry redneck women. Not that I’ve had tons of exposure to that demographic, but it puzzles me just the same. Why do people feel the need to explain everything they do to everyone around them.
“Where’s my coke, I’m going to take a sip of my coke.”
“Do you have your bag, you’re going to need it?” … “Yes, its right here” … “Good, cause you’ll be needing to have it”
Oi. Well, as I sit here they announce that the plane is pulling up to the gate.