One of the minor annoyances of life is being asked “How was your flight?” by uninterested friends/relatives whenever you take modern aviation. And since this is a blog about conflating minor annoyances into major societal scourges, let me get right to it.
First of all, it’s small talk. Like most misanthropes, I’m not fond of small talk. When I hear “How was your flight?”, I know I must now brace myself for a round of “How about this weather?” and “That local sports team is doing well/shittily.” I wasn’t crammed into a slender metal tube and flung through the air to make chit-chat. I did it so I can drink someplace new.
Secondly, unless you’re asking my charred remains inside a body bag, assume my flight was tolerable. At least as tolerable as sitting next to a morbidly obese man wedged into the center seat wearing cutoff sweatpants with one ball hanging out.
2 comments:
When has an airplane flight been good? NEVER.
You're usually trapped between the morbidly obese, and herds of screaming children. They serve you regurgitated crap that my dog wouldn't eat. And you have t wait for 20 minutes to use the restroom, because the creeper who boarded is obligated to fap in there. And the restrooms themselves are obnoxious, and they release a waft of fucking glacial air every time you flush the damn thing. Story of my life.
So, it was a good flight? No problems?
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