My last few stints flying across the country seem to have been a string of unfortunate events. Now, if you will recall from the previous blog post "My Phobia," I am already averse to flying, and tend to hyperventilate and think that I will be meeting Jesus every time I fly. Now, I imagine I've had such a heinous flying experience the last few times I've flown because with such an extensive time both in the air and in airports, this would naturally increase my probability for things going wrong.
Consider my flight today:
I arrived at the airport packed and ready to go for a much needed two month vacation. I thought I'd done pretty well, and had tried to err more on the conservative side as the skeezy airlines had started charging mega bucks for bags. I will not bow to your airline robbery!!! I was already in a foul mood as Grandma had graciously tried to take me to a local cupcake shop earlier that morning and they were closed. LAME. It's just a muffin with icing! Who doesn't have cupcakes ready to go at 10 AM? I had managed to fit everything in one bag, a carry-on, and my purse AND had managed to fit in a hefty summer shoe selection--score Jess! So I arrived at the counter ready to check in...and my bag was 62 pounds. No wonder that thing was so hard to lift. I've never been over 50 pounds, and my carry on was already fairly full. "How much is it to go over the 50 pound limit?" "50 dollars." FIFTY DOLLARS?! I am but a poor new working professional--that's some serious cash! Think of things you can buy for 50 dollars! A new dress (and a NICE new dress at that)! 3 new books! 5 months of Netflicks! Like twenty ice cream cones or cups of coffee! NO. So, there I was, off to the side deciding what beautiful pair of shoes I might have to throw away if it came down to it, and having the entire Continental flight team saying, "The jeans! Take out the jeans! They're the heaviest!" I finally managed to cram 12 pounds worth of stuff into what was a very limited space, and had to commit the environmental sin of throwing away an entire can of hairspray--but at the rates they were charging I could have purchased approximately 16.67 bottles of hairspray--it had to be done. There I was, running through security, and...I get stopped. My bag gets checked for the FIRST TIME EVER. And mind you my bag is stuffed with two pairs of pumps, some jean shorts, my reuseable coffee cup...it's PACKED. Can we say "inconvenient." "Ma'am, do you have a small pocket knife?" "No, I have not now, nor have I ever been a Boy Scout, I do not carry knives"--just kidding, but TSA did definitely paroose my bag, but after finding nothing against federal regulations I was allowed to depart and left to shove half my wardrobe back in my purse.
My flight to Minneapolis went off without a hitch--but oh, did I mention this was going to be a TWELVE HOUR day? Sick. I was proud of myself, as I did not let my mind wander too far, and only contemplated what it would be like if the plane crashed about three or four times, and had no panic attacks. This was especially significant as I was in a much smaller aircraft this time, and usually leave drenched in sweat due to the stress because you feel all the bumps and what not in those things. I arrived at Minneapolis and walked to my gate for my next flight to San Fran...only to discover that my flight had been horribly delayed. This is when things really started to go downhill. I like to sit in airports and watch people, and, I'll be honest, see what sort of attractive gentlemen might be around. However, I reminded myself that I was going to San Francisco and this might not be the best venue for straight man hunting. This was unfortunate as I had approximately four hours to kill until my plane left. Now, I love the gays as much as the next gal (holla back Rob!), and will wave that rainbow flag until Lady Gaga comes home, but I've been looking to diversify my friend group a little bit: namely with attractive intelligent and preferably single straight male friends as this seems to be the demographic that I am most lacking in...and I wasn't anticipating that San Francisco would be a good place to begin my search. However, upon my arrival on the plane, I was proved wrong. Hello Attractive Guy sitting next to me. Now, another thing you should know is that this year in particular I have had a higher then normal occurrence of attractive young men who have happened to sit next to me on airplanes. Unfortunately I am usually a) too shy to speak to them or b) I work up the nerve and they have a girlfriend. For a good bulk of the flight "a" was the issue, and I didn't really feel like talking to him as there was a good chance he was not from the local Hartford area and I like to keep my men local--it's just easier that way. I was also very, very uncomfortable. You see, I had decided that I was not going to be an American that fell prey to too little fiber in their diet, and I had eaten three Fiber One bars and by hour four of my trip it had started to catch up with me. Oh shit, I thought to myself. Ha ha ha. No! Now is not the time for a pun! This is serious! Thank goodness you did not consume your typical cup of coffee today! This would not have boded well for my fellow passengers. I was glad that I was having these thoughts instead of my typical "ohmygosh...the...plane...is... making...a...weird...sound...arewecrashing??? DearJesusidonotwanttodietoday!!!!" Anyways, the very last few minutes we were descending I thought to myself "Carpe diem!" and I had remembered how my friend Cassady had given me a pep talk about breaking the ice with guys earlier that week. "So, uh, do you have a connecting flight as well?" I said to Greg. His name wasn't actually Greg, and I never found out what his real name was, but he looked like he could be a Greg. This was an awesome ice breaker as we were already one and a half hours late and I was going to be extremely close to missing my flight to Boise. "Yeah...mine leaves at eight." Oh my gosh, maybe he's going to Boise--summer love connection here I come!
"Mine too! Where are you going?"
"Portland." Ooooh, no dice. Blast.
"Portland? My brother and one of my best friends live there! Coolio! I love that city."
"Yeah, I'm visiting some friends. Where are you going?"
"Boise. My family lives there. So, uh, what do you do?" I am so cool right now. Look at me keeping up the conversation. You have really nice white teeth. I like good hygiene in a man.
"I do EMT stuff and I travel everywhere. I just came from Wyoming and I'll be in Vermont 'til December."Hmmm. Vermont is only four hours away. And that's where they make Ben and Jerry's. SCORE.
"Oh that's really cool. You can totally visit the Ben and Jerry's factory there...I hear it's cool."
"Yeah...so did you say your boyfriend lives in Boise?" Yes! Classic line--totally trying to find out if I'm single! I see right through you Greg! I am SO in...play it cool...
"Uh, no, my family lives in Boise." Emphasis on "family--" implying NO boyfriend. Free as can be. Bat the eyes. BAT THE EYES.
"Cool." NO. WRONG ANSWER. Hmmm, perhaps I should have been more obvious or should have followed up with a "Nope, just the fam. No boyfriend, you could say I'm 'single and ready to mingle.'" Hmmm. I don't want to seem desperate. Look at my leopard print wedges!! Don't they scream, "I have a fun wild side!?" Ra-owww!
After some small talk about how we were nervous we both weren't going to make our connecting flights Greg left with a "Whelp, see ya." Alright Greg, you win this one. I'll let it slide. But if I turned on the charm you'd be done. And thus, I chalked Greg up to yet another very nice interesting and attractive man that I met on the plane and alas, nothing happened.
I didn't have much time to think about Greg, as I had to get moving to my connection. I figured my gate would be fairly close to the one that we'd arrived at, as both my flights were United. Wrong. I entered at Gate 89 and had to go to Gate SIXTY NINE. IN ANOTHER TERMINAL. Now, I've been wanting to get in shape, but this is not what I had in mind, especially since I had two twenty five pound carry-ons due to the fiasco earlier that morning AND was wearing the useless leopard print wedges that had gotten me absolutely NOWHERE with the men. So, there I was running through the San Francisco airport, and it was really fortunate I was well hydrated as I arrived huffing and puffing and sweating profusely basically as they were shutting the doors to my plane. Thank. Goodness. I even received my bag in Boise, which was a shocker. I guess it all could have been worse...I could have had some mother f***ing snakes on my mother f***ing plane or something.