I’m REALLY starting to hate flying.
The undressing in the security line. The unpacking of my painstakingly packed carry on materials. The looks that people give me when they see my socks. (What? They’re socks. They covered my feet. They did their job. Don’t judge me).
The fact that people *still* don’t understand the concept of putting their freakin purses on the floor in front of them to save room for the rest of the poor peons that couldn’t afford $600 to check their bags.
The jackass that *still* doesn’t know that you have to remove your shoes, keys, laptop, cell phone, jacket, kidney.
Or the one that doesn’t know that water is always considered a liquid – and 3 ounces did not magically morph into 16. Throw it away.
No, I don’t want to dissect your snot – so please don’t sneeze on me.
I do not want to feel your hot, emphysema laden breath on the back of my neck, so please don’t cough on me.
The only person I allow to be that close to me is my boyfriend, so please find your way out of my personal bubble.
I paid for 1 seat. You paid for 1 seat. Neither of us paid for an extra quarter or half of a seat. Please keep your arms, legs and various extremities inside the plane and your ONE seat at all times. This isn’t kindergarten – sharing is no longer important.
Though, some rules of kindergarten still apply – like washing one’s hands upon leaving the bathroom.
And, as an add-on to the rule above, don’t lick your finger with an exaggerated SLURP SLURP SLURP before turning every single page of a shared magazine. Especially one that you drench in your spit and put back in the seat pocket. C’mon people. Have a little care with what you put in your mouth. You have no idea what person wiped their ass, didn’t wash their hands and then did the same SLURP SLURP SLURP routine with that exact same magazine. Sheesh.
And please, for the love of God, pack some gum if you’re going to eat anything even remotely flavored with onions.
Maybe it’s just me, but unbuttoning your shirt and applying deodorant in the MIDDLE OF THE AIRPORT just seems wrong. Though, that could’ve been the onion smell. Maybe that guy should’ve, oh I dunno, ventured to the restroom and slapped a little soap on those pits before covering it up with Old Spice or whatever it is stinky men wear these days.
And last, but not least, if you don’t like the above rules – take a freakin’ car.
And, yes, I realize this has nothing to do with grad school....directly. But, think about how much the average grad students flies. Conferences, training, visits to home or the "grad student exclusive" asylum. You'll want to print this out and share it with the airport masses.
Until next time.