|
1.08.2007Aeronausiphobia 1:1-2The problem with unassigned seating is the “schoolyard factor.” If you’re late to the airport, you end up in the C seating group, thus you end up choosing from the seats no one else would sit in. Similar to beginning of every kickball game that ends with, “Okay, we’ll take Phillip.” Fat and slow is no way to go through life, and it’s definitely no way to fly. The week leading up to this fantasy weekend was planned carefully. My projects at work would be finished the Friday before for two reasons. One, so I couldn’t be blamed for anything that went astray while I was gone, and two, so the three days leading up to my departure would be nothing but unadulterated daydreaming. There was also the long shot hope that if all the stars aligned in my favor, I would never have to return. By Wednesday night, the only thing left to do was pack. Sally and I had two completely different ways of accomplishing the task at hand. She would try on everything she owned looking for the perfect combination of outfits that would attract the exact amount of attention or garner the most praise from our friends. She routinely dressed in more comfortable attire, but for this trip comfort was out and a cute ass or accentuated tits was in. It was a nice change of pace. Luckily for me, this was the way most women packed when traveling to Las Vegas. Needless to say, I was excited about the prospective eye-candy in addition to my wife’s newfound slutty form of self-expression. The lingering thoughts of long legs, well-endowed chests and round asses dressed in mere fabric swatches helped me through my packing process. Of course, this consisted of my favorite game of Is This Clean? coupled with What Will the Weather Be Like? My look for Vegas quickly became what we are referring to now as Suburban Barbecue. All I needed was a Kiss the Chef apron and I could have been mistaken for Ward Cleaver on any summer Sunday. * * * It was ever so faint, but I could hear the cracking metal as the wind slammed against the body of flight #9776. The steel tube pulsed and rolled slightly. It was too dark for anyone inside to see the first rivet wiggling loose from the right wing. Just below the “Not a Step” decal, the wing exposed its first fracture. No bigger than an eyelash, it slithered across the wing matching the river that passed some 35,000 feet below. The brief flash of lightning exposed the danger just long enough for me to wonder what it was. The second rivet hit the window, waking me and my husband, who rolled over and went right back to sleep. I, however, saw the crack left in the window and began to get nervous. I scanned the plane anxiously looking for the flight crew. They were huddled in the service area whispering. I knew this wasn’t a good sign. I couldn’t read lips, but I swear I saw one of them say, “What do we tell the passengers?”
posted by Jim at 11:05 PM
0 Comments: |
|
