I Am Trash on an Airplane
No judgment here.
In my day-to-day, I maintain solid habits. I go to bed early. I drink only on occasion. I read a lot of books.
All of those habits get tossed into the garbage as soon as I get on a plane ride longer than two hours.
Watch four hours of a trashy reality show I wouldn’t care to watch on any old Tuesday?
Don’t mind if I do.
Drink a Coke Zero and indulge in the shitty airplane food?
…If you’re offering, sure.
Take whatever medication I need to zonk out for a few hours?
Hand it over, please.
I wear my ugly compression socks, take my shoes off, and kick back. I’ll never have a meet-cute on an airplane, because I’m too busy wondering if Shaughna will ever get over being dumped by Callum for Mollie on Love Island.
If I want to listen to the same song seventy times, I will. If I want to watch the person next to me send emails, or snoop on what he’s reading, I will. Privacy on an airplane? Not in economy, baby.
The way I figure: I’m sitting in an upright lawn chair for two, five, ten hours. It’s uncomfortable, I’m bored, and my brains melts into a gooey mush.
So thank you, I will take another stroopwafel.
