Just flew from Cincy to Boston, en route to Dublin.
First, the good: the flight was on time, arrived early, and no screamers.
Now, the bad: the highway department picked today, a summer Sunday, to close down half the interstate lanes in Cincy; causing massive delays. Idiot Of The Decade Award goes to...
On the flight, we had the obligatory barefoot woman. People, my wife worked for the airlines, part of her job was cleaning the carpet between flights, when she had time. Guess how many times she had time? About zero. Those floors are filthy, and besides, that's just nasty. Nobody wants to experience your corny, buniony naked stank-foot. Put your damn shoes on!
Next, the woman across from me who ignored the attendants collecting trash the five times they came through the cabin and buzzed them over while we were landing to pick her shit up. Get your face out of your phone!
This guy gets a first-class ticket to hell. He sat down when he boarded, got all his shit out, then a woman showed up and said, "You're in my seat."
"Oh, sorry...to be honest, I didn't check, I just sat down."
That's more like to be lying. He sat himself in the first row of comfort class, and his seat was in last row of comfort class. Get a better story, asshole!
Then there was the lady who was in coach who had friends in first class. She spent about 75% of the flight standing in the aisle in first class, blocking the way, to chat with her friends. Hey! They bought first class to get some peace from you! Buy a ticket next time or get your ass back in coach.
I'm generally supportive of flight attendants, because it can be a shitty, thankless job, but I have to give it to them for figuring out a way get us served nearly last, even though we were in the third comfort class row.
One attendant was handling the four rows of first class. One attendant went halfway back to coach and started there, and a third one started on the first row of comfort class.
Well, she was a Chatty Cathy, and after several minutes, she still hadn't served the five people in the row. Then a fourth attendant showed up, took over the first row, and sent Chatty Cathy to...the fourth row, just behind us. Nearly everyone was served before we were. Delta! We didn't pay extra for comfort class to have the rabble in coach getting their almonds before we did!
Not only that, the different carts had different snacks, and I liked the snacks on the other cart better. And, Chatty Cathy was giving everyone one of each snack, but Bad Breath Betty was making us choose. No, BBB! NO!
We got to Logan airport, where we've never been, so I was looking forward to seeing it. Wrong! It's a dump. Dump dump dumpity dump!
We went to Lucky's Lounge to eat, after bypassing the Harpoon Lounge and that's the first thing: all the "sit down" restaurants in the terminal were small. Tiny. Not conducive to a lot of people.
Our restaurant was shaped like a skinny triangle, and we were sat in the point - one small table. Up and next to us was a family of four I just wanted to murder, then incant them back to life, just to murder again. Indifferent dad, pimply teenage son, precocious girl, and Mom.
Mom. Was. The worst. She was the ultimate mother hen: "Emma, sit there. Put your bag down. Put your bag down right there. There, honey. Right there. Tommy, back there. Daddy is going to sit there. Everyone is getting water. Where's the waitress? Waitress!"
When the waitstaff got there, Mom of course ordered for everyone, and when the food arrived, she took over for the server! She got up and started doling out the food!
When Dad arrived, he looked so defeated. He just sat in his spot like that's where he's been sitting for the last 6,000 years and would be sitting for the next 6,000 and started eating the food already sitting there. All I could think was that he'd probably been sitting in a stall in the bathroom, just happy for three minutes of quiet, contemplating slashing his wrists.
On the other side next to us was another family. Husband, wife, two small kids. Dad was Mr. Clueless Prick. Space was super-tight, and he just plopped his shit down in the middle of the floor, then did a combo manspread-manstretch, entirely cutting the server off from us. We had to tell him to move his shit three times. He'd move it, let the server in, then move it back. O, Dickhead, your bags are not a damn gate and you are not Mr. You May Pass By Me If You Answer These Riddles Three.
All of that, though...it dawned on me in the gate area at Cincy that none of that is why I hate flying. I just don't like other people that much. Not live and in person, anyway. The flight was full, the gate was crowded, and people kept bumping me and stepping on and over each other, and I thought, "Why are you all here? Go the hell home already!"
I would love to be able to do things and not have mindless crowds around me. That's the gist of it. I just don't like people in a very general sense.
"There is no bad weather, only bad clothes." - Unknown