The Flight

I suppose in hindsight it was actually all my fault. I mean I was cocky enough to believe that just by booking myself on a 777 that I would be sure to have a new and exciting experience. And while it isn't wrong to say that it was an experience, I'm not sure that "new" or "exciting" adequately describes my flight to Germany.

It all started on a dreary September day back in the year of our Lord 2006. After spending most of the day frantically packing and running around like a sweaty fool, crying with everyone like a dramatic fool and almost dropping my computer while casually walking through the terminal gabbing on the phone to my sister like a plain fool, I managed to get on the plane.

My first indication that this was not going to be a routine trip really should have been the fact that the plane that was to take me to Washington, D.C. had some "mechanical difficulty". I use quotes because it seems that every time a plane is delayed, that is that sentence that generally gets thrown at you. Usually some perky asshole gets on that damn public address system to say, "Attention in the boarding area. I regret to inform you that United flight 7804 with service to Washington, D.C. has been delayed due to mechanical difficulty. The service team has already been called and I have been assured that we will be able to begin boarding the aircraft shortly."

I have a few problems with this statement besides the obvious fact that it tells me that I'm going to be late. First, "mechanical difficulty" is just airline talk for "broken plane". This is not a thought that inspires much confidence. And while "mechanical difficulty" means the same thing as "broken plane", I'm sure that they did a test some where on some group of Midwestern idiots wandering through the mall to determine which phrase to use. The second problem I have with the above statement is the word "service". Why do they have to say "service to Washington, D.C."? Isn't it enough to simply say "flying to" or "traveling to"? Saying that the flight is "servicing" Washington, D.C. makes it sound like a hooker giving someone a blow job, and I don't know about you, but I don't like the idea of flying around on the inside of a whore. Too many STDs in there.

Well I guess I shouldn't complain too much because after only a few minutes the Puta Plane was ready to "service" Washington, and we were able to board with no further problems. This brings me to the real experience part of my flight. The plane I took to D.C. was a small 25-seat Embreaer 145 jet. Not the biggest aircraft in the world, but it has two jet engines and will do in a pinch. My flight attendant, who's name I'm pretty sure was Michael, though it could have been Jason, or Ethel, was the biggest flamer of a gay flight attendant that this homo has ever had the pleasure of witnessing. This dude was gay, and I mean gay. Spiked hair, Elton John-esque ring, and tiny, tiny man-purse. I was seated in seat 3A. Plenty close to the front of the aircraft where the only two doors were located. Doors I was already planning on getting to in the event of a "water landing", even if that meant pushing elderly and crippled people down on my way. In fact, if the opportunity to push down the elderly and crippled arose, then all the better.

Well, though my seat was adequate, my flying homo decided that he wanted to take pity on me and put me in seat 1A, which on a plane of this size is basically the closest thing anyone is getting to first class. Through the whole flight, and I mean the whole flight: takeoff, assent, cruising, descent and landing he talked to me. He talked about being a flight attendant and how his boyfriend wants to move to either Belize or Prague (two totally different places I know, but the gays are like that). He talked about crazy old ladies and their little dogs, each one he named Fifi.(The dogs, not the old ladies.) He talked about my ring and how he needed to find a tiny, tiny black man-purse and asked if I knew where he could do so in Columbus. In fact, the only time he stopped talking was to go offer everyone some water. He, of course, offered to "sneak me" and "Diet". Though I declined because I didn't want the other passengers to get jealous and start a riot, and because he offered me a "Diet" instead of a "Soda", which I feel meant he thought I was obese. Then again it could have just been gay sensibility, because had I really been offered a choice, I would have picked "Diet".

Well, and this is mostly for Paige, that is all I have the time or patience to write at the moment. I'm a European now and I have shopping to do. This is the Ox, signing off. Check back soon, I'm 6 hours ahead and you never know when I'll get the urge to write.