I made it. I went and came back. Alive, but not without scars.
Let's start this tale at the TSA security check point. Believe me, the last thing I want is to be concerned about some terrorist on my flight. I am already freaked out about flying without the added help. Therefore, I am very happy to see TSA at work. I do, however, draw the line at body cavity checks that are not followed by a dinner invitation. AND they could be nicer to people. They could do some New Kids on the Block choreography. Or since I am in South Florida, Menudo would be totally acceptable, even appropriate. It would make my experience of stripping, without the bonus of dollar bills in my pants, more pleasant.
Then, I realized that even though I made it to the airport alone without vomiting, crying, or running back home and hiding under my bed, I could not face my first solo flight without being *SLIGHTLY* impaired. Therefore, I headed to the bar and sipped one Heineken... then another. Feeling happily intoxicated, I went back to my gate and found out my flight was canceled due to airplane maintenance. Which really is aviation lingo for: "this aircraft can fall out of the sky."
So my nice, short flight to Charlotte, NC became a longer flight to Philadelphia and the beginning of what I am now calling "The Twilight Zone Experience." Landing in Philly, I am told by an impersonal pilot that it is lightning, there are no workers on the tarmac, no gates available and several flights are delayed, cancelled, etc., and all that pleasant stuff that makes you wonder why the hell you did not take the train. That 2 second message translated into 2 hours sitting on the tarmac with no food, no water, and no getting up either.
Now, I don't know about you, but I get gassy on planes. Not just a little bloated, no. I get bloated to the point unbuttoning my pants become more than just something I do, but something that's necessary for my guts not to explode.
The unpleasantness about being gassy on a plane is not just the pain and discomfort. It is the realization your physic's teacher lied to you. I clearly remember him saying that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. He apparently failed to disclose this well known physic's law does not apply to commercial aircrafts' coach seats. The proximity with other equally uncomfortable passengers, prevents one from farting in peace, but allows you to smell their stomach contents when they burp.
Alas, I land in Indianapolis a mere 10 hours after my original landing time. I go to sleep, take care of business and head back to the airport. Sans mind altering substances and feeling very confident that I will make it home at around 10pm, my flight gets delayed due to MAINTENANCE!!
I make to Charlotte some 3 hours late and wait for my connecting flight. Now also delayed. But I was flying first class on this leg due to all the issues I went through before. And damn, was I excited to fly first class. It is true what they say about first class. Life is better in first class. There is room for your ass. They offer you drinks with a smile and there is food too. This is not a myth. I saw it with my own eyes. And I have to confess: it is much easier to fart in first class.