Air Rage
by: KK
Copyright @2001

I'm not normally a violent person. But spending my life savings to be crammed into a tin can, flown across the country and treated like a lower class citizen, can cause even the calmest person to reveal their violent side.

Cost: (by the way, these figures have all been thoroughly researched) The average plane seats about 150 people. The average ticket costs about $6000 dollars. That's a profit of $900,000 for just one flight for the airlines. After paying the pilots their $20 an hour, the waitresses their $7 an hour and the Happy Meal bills, you still have $880,050.50 left over. Wow! Guess who's skippin' to the bank with that? It's easy to see how the violence in me is already starting to well up and I haven't even arrived at the airport yet.

To store or not to store? Storing luggage is a lose-lose situation. For those of you that actually believe that your luggage is being stored "below". There is no such place. That ramp that you watch the boys with earmuffs throw your luggage onto. It's the ramp to luggage hell. It's the ramp to the hole in the bottom of the plane. It's the ramp to luggage never, never land. Bye, bye luggage...ha, ha, ha!!!

I choose to bring my compact rolling bag onto the plane. It fits neatly into the bin box at the gate. It does not fit neatly into the actual bin on the plane. Squeeze, shove, push. The waitress smiles sweetly and insists on storing it "below". I quickly remove another passengers bag, stroller, purse, briefcase, oxygen tank, pillow and laptop from the bin and toss it on the floor. My bag slides in easily.

I sweetly smile back and purr, "that won't be necessary."

Note to myself: Trip the bitch the later.

I think that the Happy Meal comment was a little to complimentary and only pertains to first class. Coach food is a little lower on the food chain. Well, it's not actually on the food chain. The only time I get served anything other than peanuts is if I travel through five different time zones. I then have a choice of chicken, beef or peanuts. All the side dishes are the same. Petrified lettuce, canned green beans and a rock pretending to be a roll. I notice that there is plenty of sauce covering the meat. I soon realize why. It's not really meat. It's something they scraped off the runway, ladled some sauce over and said, "they'll never know the difference".

Pig Man next to me has inhaled his air trash like it was his last meal.

He looks at me and snorts, "you gonna eat that?"

"Not in this life time."

He promptly inhales mine. It's revolting.

Note to myself: Sue airlines for seating me next to farm animals.

At this point I think it's crucial that the cocktail waitress get her ass to my seat quickly. I've been ringing the buzzer since we left the gate and she refuses to answer. I don't like being ignored. I don't understand why alcohol is not served intravenously on airlines. It's easier for sober people to stab the crew with the plastic utensils than it is for passed out drunk people. She finally finds the time to saunter her fat butt down the aisle and serve me.

She bends over, cleavage in Pig Man's face and with her Texas drawl asks, "May I help you?"

"I hate to interrupt your busy schedule, but I need a drink. In fact since you took so long getting here. Why don't I go ahead and order all of my drinks now. I'll take 3 bottles of Merlot. Not those mini bottles either...I want the big life size ones." I mock with my fake Texas drawl.

"Miss, I don't like your attitude. You are being rude and we are not allowed to serve alcohol to belligerent people." she matter of factly stated.

"Well, what is it, rude or belligerent?" I smartly asked. "Because I am only rude when I am sober and I don't become belligerent until well after I am drunk and since I am not drunk yet I am technically not belligerent."
I had successfully confused her and off she went. She returned with a plastic cup and a mini bottle of Merlot. I curled my index finger and motioned for her to come closer.

I whispered, "I think there has been a mistake here. I specifically said that I wanted the BIG bottles of wine and that I wanted more than one."

"Miss, we only have the small bottles and we are only allowed to serve one at a time. That will be $10.50." she drawled and grinned.

I scan the plane for a suitable hostage.

"Let me get this straight," I hiss, "I paid $6000 to sit next to a farm animal, have road kill passed off as a meal and now you want to charge me $10.50 for a dixie cup of watered down grapes?"

"Miss, please lower your voice. It is against the law to threaten the flight attendants," again with that sickening drawl.

I spot a small child that would make the perfect hostage. He's too far away and Pig Man is in my way. I do the next best thing. I pick up my 3" plastic spoon and stick it the her face.

"First of all, DO NOT TELL ME TO LOWER MY VOICE! Second of all, You are not a flight attendant. You are a waitress. You work on a flying tin can serving food and drinks. That makes you a waitress!! Third, NOW, I am threatening you! Bring me $6000 worth of alcohol before I spoon that Texas drawl directly from your nostrils!"

The plane falls silent. Pig Man has stopped snorting. The waitress glares back at me.

It's a stand off.

She turns on her heels and huffs her way to the back of the plane. After endless moments of silence, a low rumble is heard. Coming down the aisle is the liquor cart with the waitress following closely behind.

She stops in front of my seat, glares at me and spits, "I hope you drink yourself into a stupor."

Woo Hoo! Where's the funnel!?

The plane erupts into applause and she disappears into the back, never to be seen again.
I am now happily inebriated and semi-conscious. Next time...road trip!