And, thanks to a malfunctioning rear door light, I got to spend about eight hours cooped up with this gnome. Yes, we were about 30 minutes in the air when the pilot came on the PA to announce...
"We have to return to Los Angeles. We have a warning light that the rear door is open."
Just like what happens when you haven't closed your car trunk properly, except at 30,000 feet.
I didn't get too freaked out because I've had this happen before. No sweat. They would fix it on the tarmac and, as the pilot predicted, we would be back up in the air with the same plane.
A long, long, long day. Made worse by this gabby yenta across the aisle from me who did not shut up for a single five second period. She glommed onto a seat mate, one of those Beverly Hills types who was 60, desperately trying to look 50, but with plastic surgery that made her look like she was 70. Seriously, her face looked like it had been lifted by two 12-year-old kids on a school 4-H project.
So, the woman with the tightened puss got sucked into a dialogue with the big mouth, who literally dominated the conversation from LAX to the baggage claim at JFK. This would have been fine but she was loud and didn't know how to measure her own volume. Every word was destined to call the hogs grazing on the south 40 of the biggest ranch in Texas. You could not miss a single oral thought for hours.
"You can't overcook kale."
"My brother has had a urinary obstruction for the past five years."
"I prefer those Colgate whitening strips."
"And another thing..."
"Hillary Clinton looks best when wearing muted colors."
"Flight attendant, this man wants to know if you have Ovaltine on board."
"Louis Vuitton makes the best luggage."
"And another thing..."
"I have to get up and pee on average three times a night."
"Flight attendant, you never got back to me about this gentleman's Ovaltine."
"I used to be on Xanax, but it started to make me gassy."
On and on and on. Now, all of this is verbatim and you can accuse me of not minding my business. But, I couldn't help but hear every annoying word because she was so freakin' loud. Somewhere over Montana, I was praying for several terrorists to step forward on board so I could say..."Use your box cutter on her throat first."
Even on the ground, she kept up this yakky pace all through the terminal and pulling her rollaway off the conveyor belt at baggage claim. I noted that it was not Louis Vuitton so this confirmed that this blabbermouth was full of shit.
She popped into a cab outside for a destination. When I got to my lodging later that night, I turned on the 11 O"Clock News. I expected that the first story would be about some taxi driver being arrested for shooting his fare in the head. I mean, her head.
Sadly, it was not.
Dinner last night: Had a long day of travel so nothing really.
No comments:
Post a Comment