The Airplane Challenge

At some point or another we have all spent time traveling from place to place via airplane. The joyous hours of airport monotony are spent: going through security, being stuck behind women who decide to wear all the metal jewelry they own and having to remove our shoes, coats, electronics, sweatshirts, belts etc. Whenever they ask me to take off my sweatshirt I always tell them I’m not wearing anything underneath it… so suck on that.

When I fly I tend to pack an hour or less before my flight and usually I am somewhat intoxicated when I begin my packing endeavor. This usually ends up with me wearing the same sweatshirt for the duration of my trips. I am also a repeat offender of forgetting to wear socks on the day of travel, leaving me barefoot to tip toe through the cesspool of a security line, like I am walking on hot coals. Then I have to wait for the wanna be Tina Turner in front of me to walk back and forth through the metal detector as she slowly removes the bling suit of armor she decided to wear to the non existent delta fashion show.

I cannot for the life of me understand how women can wear stilettos to the airport. My outfit of choice usually includes sweatpants, clogs, Uggboots or some other hideously comfortable shoe. Except for crocs. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! NO ONE SHOULD EVER WEAR CROCS!! I don’t care how comfortable they are, you still look like an idiot. If I’m meeting someone I would like to look sexy for, I’ll put some damn make up on when I reach my final destination, maybe.

Now onto finding your departing gate. After walking past every fast food stand, cinnabon city, electronics r’us and sam adams tribute to whatever the fuck city you’re in, you finally reach your gate. You look around for an open seat, avoiding the weird looking foreign dude and lady with 12 screaming babies until you find a seat to stake claim and pray that you don’t have to sit next to any of the fat, wendy’s munching, screaming babies currently in your general vicinity on the airplane. And then you wait for your “zone” to be called. Every airline except for South West are a bunch of retards. You have a ticket, you get on the plane, you pick a fuckin’ seat. BOOM! Stop making me feel worthless because I’m in zone 4.

Then there are a plethora of seating situations you may encounter with your “row mates” Some of my favorites include, the arm rest hogger, the ‘i love to hear myself talk about my kids, my cats, politics and whatever else I am currently observing’ lady or gentleman, the over the shoulder reader of whatever book you’re reading or content your looking at on your laptop, the post break-up sobber, the medicated open mouth breathing sleeping zombie, the sleep apnea king and finally the chronic ‘excuse me I need to get up and stretch my legs/use the bathroom guy.’

While all of these glorious people and situations are a standard part of air travel there is one which is the greatest and most satisfying of them all. Being able to fart as loud and as often as you want without anyone hearing or knowing it was you. So the next time you board an airplane, take all the reoccurring annoying travel incidents in stride, sit back, relax and fart away.

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