Trying to Forget the Mets at 36,000 Feet

I’m cruising at 36,000 feet on my way to LA. No food – not even an offer to purchase. Good thing I brought a Cliff Bar to munch on. I like Cliff Bar’s, but they block me up. So maybe I shouldn’t have had one on the ground at JFK before the flight.  Oh well. I’ll eat some Kiwi when I land.

I’m also deprived of light. The overheads won’t go on while they’re showing lousy in-flight entertainment. Really? When did they start with this? Are they actually saving on electricity? The airlines will do anything these days to save a few bucks. It appears that American has also cut back on customer service training, judging from the way one nasty flight attendant is deriving pleasure by snapping at a group of senior Asian tourists.  The poor woman next to me was coughing up a lung and asked for water. We were still in our ascent so Nasty Flight Attendant growled, “NO!” Great. I love sitting next to someone who is gagging to death. I gave the woman a cough drop and she settled down. I’m sending American a bill. Considering how overpriced airline food and beverage is (when it’s available to us common folks in coach, that is), I think $5 for the cough drop is fair. Plus another $1.50 for destination charges.  

Thankfully, the little girl in front to me has been very well behaved during the flight. I was expecting a scream-a-thon, but that hasn’t materialized. I credit her parents for keeping her happy and well rested. Maybe they can teach Nasty Flight Attendant a thing or two about in-flight behavior.

The coughing lady next to me is now drinking milk. I have never seen an adult drink milk on an airplane. She also keeps insisting that a flight attendant (the Nice One) pour water in her empty bottle of Starbucks. Not sure why she won’t drink from a plastic cup. The flight attendant vehemently refuses to do so (okay, so she’s not so nice).  Not sure why. I guess it’s some security thing. Or she’s afraid of spilling a few drops on the passengers and getting sued. If anything, the airline should be sued for starving us and depriving us of light. And verbally abusing us.  I should just spring for Business Class next time. I hear they’ll even treat your cough up front with tea and honey.

As I’m writing this, the coughing woman is laughing at the way I type – hunt and peck, hunt and peck. She wouldn’t be laughing if she could read what I’m writing about her. But no worries. The only English she seems to know is “Thank you” and “Sorry.” And maybe Starbucks.

And in case you’re wondering – if you’ve made it this far — I really have little to say about the Mets right now. As long as I have something or someone else to bitch about, I don’t feel compelled to vent about the Mets. Especially at seven miles above Kansas. I feel insulated from them, like they can’t assault my nerve centers up here with their negative vibes. I have barely given any thought to the fact that are now below .500 and likely to stay there for the rest of the season.  Or that their bullpen is even worse than I imagined. Or that beyond Harvey and Niese, the starting pitching is hopeless. Or that Ike Davis still can’t hit his weight. Or that Travis D’Arnaud broke his foot and is starting to look a bit injury prone – not a good sign for a catcher. Or that Zack Wheeler is struggling in AAA.  Or that centerfield is almost comically bad. Actually, it is comically bad.

Oh, why did I get started? Even up here, can’t divorce my thoughts from the Fabulous Flushing Boys. Where’s that Nasty Flight Attendant? I need another source of angst, real fast. At least before we land.




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