I’m writing this 36,000 feet in the air on my phone, hoping that I will in fact be able to save this post despite being in airplane mode. Fingers crossed.
*Update: a draft does in fact save locally. Score one for me and technology. But mostly me.*
I’m flying to Ohio to surprise my friend Kate for her 30th birthday which is actually tomorrow. So that means that I currently have nothing but time on my hands because airplanes force me to disconnect from all things internet. Also, I’m not posting this til Thursday night (it is currently Wednesday at 7pm local time, whatever local may be right now), after I actually see Kate. I don’t wanna spoil the aforementioned birthday surprise, thus undoing all the effort to throw her off the trail (i.e., posting a happy birthday message on her Facebook wall because “work is just gonna be SO busy today and tomorrow). Her boyf and I have been in cahoots planning this for about 3 weeks now and I have no intention of blowing it a mere 20 hours beforehand because I’m bored on the plane and wanted to blog to pass the time.
I’m sure you follow my thought process here.
That said, here some of the thoughts that run through my head during traveling:
Old ladies have approached me on two separate occasions asking for help with off-the-wall things like, where does one go to pick up their mother who suffers from dementia and is flying in alone? I’m not even remotely dressed like a Southwest agent. I would understand if the question was, where is the bathroom? or do you have the time? Apparently I look approachable and like I might know stuff. This is exactly why I don’t where red and khaki to Target. Anymore.
Why are there so many people wearing scrubs that the Phoenix Airport? Even if it was a medical convention, and despite how comfy scrubs are, who travels in scrubs? Oh wait…I do.
This plane smells like a day old turkey sandwich that has been left on the table. I believe it might at one time have been a sandwich garnished with mayo and tomato. I think I might get my uber-sensitive nose from my mother.
Why is the plane so frickin’ freezing? It’s making me sniffly and I’m sure it’s not becoming to the people on either side of me. Yes, that means I have a middle seat. Twice.
Speaking of middle seats, I think it’s poor airplane etiquette to be traveling with your husband, and not sit together, just so you each can have an aisle seat, forcing me, the lone traveler, to squeeze in the middle. Yes, that is directed at you, lady sitting next to me.
I’m being told to power off all electronic devices. Columbus, Ohio, here I come….