Airplane Farts Don't Stink and Other Travel Myths Dispelled

It was once reported by one of my close friends, and fellow business travelers, that it is possible to fart on an airplane and not have the smell creep into your neighbors' nostrils due to the pressured cabin and the flotation device characteristics of your seat cushion. Just because it floats does not mean that it's a cork. So stifle your urges, Sparky. I'm here to tell you, brothers and sisters, that I can smell your farts. That is theory is officially crap. Not unlike the substance that is most certainly occupying the underpants of one of the eight passengers currently surrounding me.

Next, having a baby on the plane does not entitle you to anything except boarding early. And if you want to do that, you'd better be ready for the call because your compadres won't be too keen to let you cut in line later. Yes, I (we) understand that little Jimmy is cute as button, but corale that hellion and get on the plane. Please note that seatbacks and tray tables must be in the upright and fully locked position for take-off and landing and are not engineered to be a junglegym. So get your kid off of mine and strap her into the seat because she's about to get a beat down. You may want to feed him some Nyquil while you're at it because we have no tolerance for crying. In fact, a crying child on an airplane ranks right up there with nails on a chalkboard for all time annoying sound.

Just because employees at the airline ticket counter, hotels, car rental counters and restaurants are in the service industry does not mean that you can treat them like servants. If you believe that, as one colleague does, you're a moron. These are the people that can transform your into a life "Groundhog Day"-like Hell. My colleague still has no idea that the mysterious mid-week check-outs and handicapped bathrooms were a direct result of her bitchy attitude toward the hotel staff.

One last note on air travel. We, like your wife - or husband for that matter, do not think your snoring is endearing so cut it out. If you are prone to snoring, please bring a dozen of those little foam earplugs for those sitting around you, pass them out, then buy everyone a drink. This greatly improves the chances of them not putting an Alka-Seltzer tablet in your fly-trap mouth, but don't quote me on that.

Oops, I lied. Here's another airplane tip that the flight attendant just brought to my attention. No matter your opinion, your suitcase, like your ass, is bigger than you think. Please, please, please carry your bag in your hand. That is why it has handles. Don't use the shoulder strap for it's intended purpose. Because I guarantee that the repercussions of the unintended purpose of smacking someone in the head won't be fun for you or the smackee. Also, please don't try to roll your suitcase up the aisle like the flight attendant just did. I know it's called a roll-a-board, but you're going to roll over tootsies. My tootsies are not particularly fond of being used as aisle-path speedbumps.

And another thing, the book, magazine or newspaper that I'm reading should signal to you that I am not in the mood to talk. Don't read over my shoulder either. The other people next to you and I can feel your look. We don't like it. And we are liable to spill our coffee in your lap.


Some Fridays Are Actually Mondays...

Some Fridays Are Actually Mondays That Have Gotten Out Of Sorts And Wound Up In The Wrong Weekly Order

It's Labor Day Friday, which I would normally consider renaming "Good Friday" since it is the kick-off to a three-day weekend. Actually, any Friday should be able to be labeled Good Friday since it is the gateway to the weekend. However, as I will demonstrate in this short tome, some Fridays are not good; in fact, they are evil and should be relegated to Monday status.

Things started well enough today. I got upgraded to First Class¹. I had lunch with one of the "Top Three Hottest Clients" on my project. She was so impressed with my excellent table manners and lunch conversations that she brought me to the STD² train station, too. Then she went home to her fiancee³.

Back to the point, after a thoroughly non-titillating train trip to Newark airport, I am on a plane bound for Nashville, Tennessee in an effort to join members of my ultimate team, Black Angus, for a tournament in Chattanooga. Don't ask why we are flying into NashVega$ instead of Atlanta to get to Nooga, which if you don't know is like flying to Jacksonville for a fishing weekend in Juneau, Alaska. Let it suffice to say that I will not be trusting my itinerary planning to a engineer any more.

I am currently the victim of an "on-time departure", i.e. the plane left the terminal on-time but has not yet left the tarmac. My 3:10 PM flight taxied out to what I can only assume was the correct spot for taking off. Unfortunately, a rapid ascent into the heavens did not ensue. Air Traffic Control placed a ground hold on all south bound aircraft due to bad weather. I didn't realize that planes could actually melt if rained upon.

Lucky for us, the ground hold only last 90 minutes. Woo Hoo! We were on the verge of taking off when a dog had to pee. Actually, it didn't really have to pee, or it may have, but the federal government said that the dog must be allowed to pee. There is apparently an FAA regulation stating that animals must have a pee break if it has boarded a plane that has not taken off in sixty minutes.

Are you effing kidding me? Let me get this straight. A dog can pee all over itself in its pet carrier during a four hour flight from Houston to LA. But if the plane sits on the runway for too long, we have to turn the plane around, delay the free drinks, and walk the dog. Apparently agents from PETA have secretly taken over the FAA, which explains why the filling in the turkey sandwiches doesn't really look like turkey.

With a Friday afternoon like this in the bag, someone's probably going to try and tell me that there aren't actually casinos and showgirls in NashVega$.

Foot Notes:
¹By the way, Coach, or the No Class section, is for you losers that actually have lives which involve actually living and working within an area described by a circle with a radius of sixty miles.

²STD is the Metro North Railway abbreviation for the Stamford train station and not a slang name for the joint. Although after having seen the bathroom, I am convinced that one could a catch a mean case of something from the toilet seat should one so desire.

³There was no funny business going on. She's engaged. And, I don't do that type of stuff with OPP. And, I had already checked out of the Westin.