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30,000 foot mini-rant.

June 2, 2010

Yep. I’ve returned. Damn. How is it possible I am back home already?

Before I get back into any semblance of “The Swing of Things,” I just want to mini-rant for five seconds.

When I travel, I want to be left alone. Do not speak to me, unless you want directions. But even that is not recommended. I’m traveling – by definition I won’t know how the hell to help you out.

Got on the plane to come home. I really despise those first few minutes when you actually think that perhaps no one will take that seat next to you and you will have the whole row to yourself. This, of course, never works out and only makes you all that much more annoyed when the other person actually shows up and invades your personal space. Or sits down in their seat. Whatever.

Maybe that is just me.

Clearly it was not the guy who sat down next to me. He clearly wanted to chat.

I don’t like to chat. I don’t enjoy small talk in general, let alone when traveling. See this book here? It means I am reading, not holding it up to look Smart. Perhaps you hold books for appearances. Or maybe you can read and carry on a conversation at the same effing time. In which case, I suggest you avoid assuming others can multitask on your level, sir.

Here’s my rant. If I am friendly and engage people like this in conversation, I have to talk to them when what I really want to do is read/watch a movie/pass the fuck out. However, in order to not talk to them, I have to be rude and bitchy until they figure it the fuck out and leave me alone. This usually involves many one-word responses to perfectly nice questions, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, and generally shutting down all social advances from a possibly perfectly nice person. Perhaps making them feel a little shitty. Because I just have to be that rude.

Why the fuck should I do that and then feel guilty about being such a bitch and maybe making you feel bad? Can’t you cue in a little quicker? Americans can’t fucking smile at each other on the street – but we sit our asses in a plane seat, and now we’re going to have conversation?

But. Such actions are required if I am to enjoy (relative term) my flight. I’m not here for your entertainment. Sorry.

Of course, eventually you have to say something to this person if you are at the window and have to pee. In this instance, however… new fun.

Seriously? You want me to climb over? Are you kidding? Am I the only one here who has noticed first class has less leg room than it used to? Climbing over used to be acceptable (I know this because I remember once knowing I could do so to keep from waking up the woman next to me – only to wake her up anyway because it was only upon standing that I realized I’d had one too many refills on my wine. Drunk in first class at 30,000 feet. Classy). Climbing over is no longer an option.

But… once again, you said go ahead, climb over, and just sat there. What, I’m supposed to say to you “oh, no, I don’t think so. Can you get up?” While an appropriate response to this awkward (and going to become more awkward) situation, that would, somehow, be rude. And I may have already used up my allowance on rudeness.

Later, a second attempt at conversation when food arrives. Your little brother flunked out of my alma mater? Well, isn’t that just interesting. And, obviously, you know what that is because it’s written across my tits. Which were shoved in your face when I had to climb over you.

Where the fuck is my ambien.

However. I later wondered if he might have been gay. He ordered chardonnay with dinner and was watching the True Hollywood Story of Simon Cowell on E!.

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