The majority of my day last Sunday was spent in homage to the age old tradition of traveling like a schmuck for the holidays. I fucking hate holiday travel. Especially December holiday travel in the U.S.. Nothing good happens on an airplane in the United States in December.
Here are a few stories of what it’s like to be stuck in an airport/on a plane, especially during the holiday:
Too many kids:
”After finally making the train, the oldest one ignored her advice to hold on so he fell when it started moving and hit his head, cue screeching. I finally lost sight of them as I was going up an escalator and watched the oldest one screaming by the bags and stroller with the mom chasing the middle one down the hall yelling at him to come back with the kid just laughing and running away.
I feel so bad for whoever is on that woman's flight.”
The shitty kid:
“After things calm down and we take off, the kid actually relaxes a bit. He's playing the in-flight games, he's watching cartoons, I'm thinking I got pretty lucky. He doesn't even take up any leg room next to me so I'm able to stretch sideways and nod off. And then, 2 hours until wheels-down, over some uncharted segment of the Indian Ocean, disaster strikes. Suddenly, the kid is standing on his seat. He's turned around, grabbing onto his head rest and pulling down his pants. In one fell swoop, he wipes his entire ass with his hand and is waving it in my face.”