A big travel day for yours truly, writing to you from the fabulous 10F EXIT ROW WINDOW SEAT aboard a jet going to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Flying from Seattle to SoFla -- corner to corner in these United States -- takes a LONG ASS TIME. My flight from SEA-TAC left at the ungodly hour of 7AM, which meant that the car service came to collect me at 5AM, which meant that I tried to go to bed at the (for me) early hour of 1AM, and it didn't work. I got up totally unrefreshed and woozy at 3:30AM, tried to check-in online, screwed up, swore, took a shower, finished packing, and left my home after feeding the dog and putting out the milk delivery order, with a note for Couch Young Adult to TAKE THE MILK IN. Oh, imagine me at the airport about 30 minutes later, sans sleep and sans coffee with THREE huge heavy bags like a flame-haired lumbering Punk Lovey Howell. At the counter, a handsome young thang upgraded me to First Class (because I PAID HIM TO), took two of the three burdens off my hands (no, not the kids -- I'm solo this time), and I walked over to The Fast Security Line For People Who Pay Extra Money To Get A Better Seat On An Airplane.
I don't know what it was in the airport this morning, or maybe it was because the first leg of my flight was going to Los Angeles, but there sure were a lot of nice looking dudes and dudettes in the Seattle airport this morning. How do people look so damn sharp at this hour? I don't get it. Maybe they Pay Money To Look Extra Good At An Airport In The Early Morning Hours. My seat 1A had no seatmate, always a good thing, so I scored two pillows and two blankets. What was awkward was that my seat directly faced the flight attendant jumpseat, separated by a purple-ish Plexiglass barrier, so Attendant Dude and I had to spend moments Looking Away From Each Other. All I had to look at was the not very pretty metal container crap in the galley, rattling away with every air bump.
As soon as we were in the air, I arranged my bedding gear, did FULL RECLINE, and fell into some weird sleep/half-sleep state just through sheer exhaustion. I remember thinking the whole time, "My neck hurts," and "I have to pee," hearing assorted beeps and dings over the plane PA, the light clatter of the First Class breakfast plates, and the whooshy roar of the jet engine and the air jet blasting smelly fuel wafts down on me. I thought I hadn't slept until DING! Attendant Dude announced we were coming into LAX and I must WAKE THE F UP and DISINCLINE my seat. Mrghh mmphh whaaa...why is my mouth so dry? Oh crap, I must've fallen asleep with my mouth open. I cringed slightly at the thought of Attendant Dude sitting in his jumpseat, nowhere else to go, having to stare at me in some horrific sleep state, then cringed again at my second thought, which was I didn't care as much as I normally would have because he did not seem to be the kind of guy who would date girls.
CRASH! No, not the plane, or you would not be reading this, unless I was just that badass. The crash, which definitely helped WAKE ME THE F UP, was the the First Class First Row's storage area underneath the purple Plexiglass COMPLETELY FALLING APART. Oh, dear, I thought as everything fell on my feet, this airplane is apparently held together with Band-Aids. Oh, dear. Attendant Dude came over and beat it all back into place.
We arrived at LAX and it looked like this.
Oh, L.A. you are so so L.A., and L.A. boarding a flight to SoFla is a study in Blue-Haired Women In Wheelchairs, The Platinum Blonde In The Pink Juicy Track Suit With An Ass Whose Moon-Like Topography Was Microscopically Visible To All, The Grizzled Rockstar And His Model Wife, Child, And Nanny, and Slick Guys Talking To "Howard" About " Syndication Deals." Me, I just want to get on and make sure that Heavy Bag #3 (an actual piece of luggage, NOT ME, COMEDIANS) fits completely under the seat in front of me because it's heavy as f and could kill a guy if I accidentally dropped it from the overhead bin, whose contents may shift while in flight.
It did fit under the seat, enough to pass Another Attendant Dude's muster anyway, and so then, this post to you from me, with love, from the sky.
© Copyright 2008- Marianne Spellman