Oosetin, TX
So waiting in SBN for a quick connection to Atlanta, I hear an announcement that due to some mechanical difficulties, our flight will be delayed. Okay, no biggie--hey wait, there's fire trucks on the runway. Huh. And police! And here come the ambulances. And now the plane is being towed off the tarmac. Excellent.
So I called Lizett telling her I didn't think I'd be in on time--and hey wait, they're boarding the towed plane. My plane. Outstanding. So...that was a little scary. My previous crippling fear of flying has been pretty much reduced to a vague feeling of discomfort during takeoff and landing, the kind you get when you think of the last time you got kicked in the nads, but I confess I was not feeling particularly good about getting on that particular flight. Of course it went by without incident, and the hilarious flight attendant managed to put us all at ease by requesting that we put our seats in their fully uncomfortable positions instead of their fully upright positions--WHHHOOOOOAAAAA!
My flight to Austin turned out to be the real trial. It was a late flight, so I was napping comfortably when suddenly the dude behind me breaks into this full-volume play-by-play of last week's The Office. At midnight. On an otherwise silent plane. Who are you even talking to, you crazy bearded bastard? I woke up thinking--I'm in hell. The plane has crashed, we've all died, and this is hell. I thought it would be hotter--nope, just a well-intentioned but uncommonly boring man droning on about a situational comedy for all of eternity. I started to put in my earbuds and then BAM! Please turn off all electronic devices for our ridiculously long approach into Austin. OH GOD, this is hell.
Austin itself was awesome, and can be summed up almost entirely by the phrase "delicious food and drink." We hit lots of restaurants, a few bars, and saw the sights in San Antonio. Or should I say San Anbronio? No? The highlight of the trip for me was being followed up the stairs in a parking garage off of fourth street by a group of excited gentlemen shouting "Get crunk! We killas! We killas, baby, get CRUNK!" Get crunk? Are you serious? There's a group of raving killers chasing me up a parking garage stairwell! Is there a word for when your gonads recede in alarm? I'm pretty sure it's not crunk. I'm pretty sure it's...I hate you.
So I called Lizett telling her I didn't think I'd be in on time--and hey wait, they're boarding the towed plane. My plane. Outstanding. So...that was a little scary. My previous crippling fear of flying has been pretty much reduced to a vague feeling of discomfort during takeoff and landing, the kind you get when you think of the last time you got kicked in the nads, but I confess I was not feeling particularly good about getting on that particular flight. Of course it went by without incident, and the hilarious flight attendant managed to put us all at ease by requesting that we put our seats in their fully uncomfortable positions instead of their fully upright positions--WHHHOOOOOAAAAA!
My flight to Austin turned out to be the real trial. It was a late flight, so I was napping comfortably when suddenly the dude behind me breaks into this full-volume play-by-play of last week's The Office. At midnight. On an otherwise silent plane. Who are you even talking to, you crazy bearded bastard? I woke up thinking--I'm in hell. The plane has crashed, we've all died, and this is hell. I thought it would be hotter--nope, just a well-intentioned but uncommonly boring man droning on about a situational comedy for all of eternity. I started to put in my earbuds and then BAM! Please turn off all electronic devices for our ridiculously long approach into Austin. OH GOD, this is hell.
Austin itself was awesome, and can be summed up almost entirely by the phrase "delicious food and drink." We hit lots of restaurants, a few bars, and saw the sights in San Antonio. Or should I say San Anbronio? No? The highlight of the trip for me was being followed up the stairs in a parking garage off of fourth street by a group of excited gentlemen shouting "Get crunk! We killas! We killas, baby, get CRUNK!" Get crunk? Are you serious? There's a group of raving killers chasing me up a parking garage stairwell! Is there a word for when your gonads recede in alarm? I'm pretty sure it's not crunk. I'm pretty sure it's...I hate you.
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