Plane delayed out of Knoxville two hours. Re-routed onto a later flight to Boston out of Cincinnati.
So glad to have this bag of four and a half tiny pretzels, now I won’t need dinner.
Shuffle mode on iTunes has a strong penchant for Bowie and Chopin. Interesting choices.
Air travel brings out my inner sociologist and the curiosity overtakes me. Who are all these people? Where are they going? What put each of us on this plane? Why does that carry-on smell strongly of aged cheese?
There's a middle-aged man across the aisle is reading MAD magazine. Missing my brother now. Childhood memories of Spy v. Spy and fold-over pictures on the back cover. Mom thought it was crass. Meaning that we, of course, couldn’t get enough.
Sitting in the rows behind me is a family with five little boys in tow. Each half-a-head taller than the next, starting with a 6-month old. The three-year old spent the entire taxi and take-off strapped into his seat writhing and bellowing, “But, Daaad, I have to peeee! I’m gonna go all over my seat!”. He made it, though. Nothing but a blur down the aisle the instant the fasten seat belt sign flickered off. A grateful plane, spared the foul stank of urine soaked leather, thanks him.
Not sure I’m up for my Exit-row seat responsibilities. "In case of sudden drop in cabin pressure, please proceed to the nearest Exit, where the hyperventilating blonde girl will be eye-ball deep in panic and unable to help you." This worries me.
Oh, hello, Cincinnati. Not a moment too soon.
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