Musings Aboard Continental Flight 632

I am writing this aloft on a plane suspended somewhere between Houston Texas and New York City. It is much later than I had hoped this journey would take place due to an unscheduled 2 hours on the runway listening to unreliable accounts of the awful thunderstorms plaguing the LaGuardia airport and how this may or may not result in my permanent residency in the Lone Star State (good thing I have lots of rodeo experience). My flight was eventually returned to the gate which has to be the saddest thing that can happen to one at an airport save finding out that ye old internet is reporting to your somewhat bemused boyfriend that your plane has arrived in New York City (When did LaGuardia get a BBQ joint?).

I was eventually herded back on the flight and seated 2 rows behind a family of roughly 35 over dressed folks half of whom were under age 7 and all of whom seem to have never so much as seen a plane before. The father figure has repeatedly yelled at the stewardess to bring him some water RIGHT NOW and the children (the hordes and hordes of cackling little goobers) will not stop crying, whining, screeching and generally poking each other into a frenzy.

I, possibly more than most, know how disappointing, frustrating and baffling the airline industry can be but I find the general moaning of those around me substantially harder to endure than the cramped seat, the linger smell of vinegar, the absence of Diet Pepsi and the fact that an additional hour in the Houston airport forced me to break down and eat French fries and a burger both of which will likely be the final layer of fat that forces me out of my svelte size fours and into a muumuu. Worse yet the stewardess has just brought me more food – I applaud Continental Airlines for holding out against the $5 Snack Pack in favor of free damp cheeseburgers and iceberg lettuce but also curse them for bringing more calories to my tray when I have nothing but a DS Crossword that’s kicking my ass and three days of work email to act as ammo against boredom eating.

I somehow managed to resist the temptations of fast food only to realize 15 minutes after pushing my uneaten slop towards the Miss America-like heavily made up stewardess that buried beneath the ketchup packet and wet wipe was a fun sized Hershey bar which I very much would like to have in my mouth. Sure, asking them to dig this morsel from the garbage would be uncivilized but what other place in modern society so heartily supports incivility? Shouldn’t I embrace this opportunity? Isn't a subpar milk chocolate bar and civil disobedience in the form of dumpster diving at 30,000 feet exactly what I’ve earned? I don’t even like milk chocolate.