Two hours into my flight back home and the guy behind me has his iPod BLASTING. It could practically be a sing along, if I liked death metal and knew any of the three words to the songs. At first, I thought someone was playing Guitar Hero. The mind numbing chord progressions and four minute guitar solos were making me dizzy.
I can feel him head banging in his seat. I want to turn around and yank those fu**ing ear buds right out of his deaf ears. What’s the point of having earphones if half the plane can hear your crap?
The captain of this flight was one of the chipper, gung-ho variety. Pointing out our exact route prior to take off, when we’ll be flying over which monument, the things that I could care less about. Everything looks the same at 35,000 feet. The hoover dam? Teeny weeny itsy bitsy ants. If he chimed in to tell us that we no longer had to pay for blankets and pillows, or that there would now be free food for everyone (and I'm not talking about a slim jim and some pringles) he'd have my undivided attention.
Captain Overzealous: We recognize here at Northwest Airlines that it’s not only our pleasure to have you on board; it’s also our privilege.
You bet your ass it’s your privilege. I had to sit next to a guy who whipped out Q-tips, stuck them inside a gooey tube of Neosporin and then shoved the Q-tips up his nose, one nostril at a time. He made no attempt to hide this nasty pre-takeoff ritual. He just kept swirling away, as if he was merely brushing some lint off his jacket.
When did they stop boarding the plane by row number? First class first, women with small children, gold/silver/platinum elite members, then the back of the plane to front. This trip, they boarded all of the underlings at the same time, which made for a chaotic mad dash. Now that most domestic airlines are charging $25 to check any luggage, the line of mad dashers were all squeezing and jockeying with one goal in mind:
I’m finding a goddamn compartment for my carry on before you are. Even if it’s over-sized, I’m carrying this shit on. If I could just board first, I’ll take my time and really shove it in there. Move it!
The Jersey in me comes out every now and again. Waiting in line at the DMV, at airport ticket counters when my flight has been delayed or canceled and when giant sweaty deaf men seated behind me listen to Death Metal as if its docked in the frickin’ Bose iPod station.
Excuse me, would you mind turning that down? (gesturing to my ears) I was sleeping and it actually woke me up. You must go to a lot of loud live shows or play in a band …
Mr. Sweaty Lip Deaf Metal didn’t actually speak to me. He looked at me like I had just eaten his last Flaming Hot Cheeto. He then shifted himself in his seat, nodded once and then pulled his black baseball cap down to cover his eyes.