A travel day consisting of an hour of flight and an hour of layover, then thirteen hours of flight and five hours of layover, then another hour of flight can really take a toll on one's patience and sanity. This is the story of that last hour.
After being subjected to overhearing a NY girl prattle on to her neighbor about how she's a model (uhyeahright), I was treated to the following little dramatic gem.
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The place... a rickety-ass NY-DC air shuttle.
The time... time is irrelevant in the seventh circle of hell.
[Woman in front of me inquires about the source of the water they pour on their flights. Male flight attendant assures her that it is bottled water. Woman consents to a cup of it, takes one sip, and pushes the call button.]
Female Flight Attendant: Yes?
Bottled Water Connoisseur: This water tastes funny.
FFA: I'm sorry?
BWC: It tastes like tap water.
FFA: [looks unamused] Um... I just poured it from the bottle.
BWC: Oh. Well, then, it must be the ice, or something.
FFA: Uh, okay... Would you like a cup without ice?
BWC: Yes. [Haughtily hands cup back.]
Cut to me, curled in the fetal position and twitching softly one row back. And SCENE.
(My only saving grace was the eleven-year-old boy four rows behind me who was belting out top 40s tunes.)
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Airport-woes aside, back from a fabulous middle-eastern vacation. Lots of good stuff to come.
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