Friday, July 06, 2007

thoughts from spots (oh god, forgive me for that...)

Beth's notes from her 12 hours of air travel, un-edited:

Anything I've ever done in my life that I thought was fabulous, and I've experienced some pretty fabulous shit, was nothing compared to the fabulousness of me sitting alone at the bar at Fred's, the restaurant on the 9th Floor of Barney's New York, having a martini and the chicken soup, sure to "cure your cold and keep you thin." It was all I could do not to wear my huge, glamorous sunglasses the entire time...

I am obsessed with being above the clouds and looking down at them. The weirdest thing is to see another plane flying below you. Why do they seem to be going so much faster than my ATA discontinued shitbox? Is it a private plane? And if so, whose? As I told my mother after I was basically raped with a metal detection wand at the Theorello LaGuardia Intl. Airport yesterday, "Why don't we have our own plane? I mean, my God. Do you not love us?"

The best thing about this flight is that my thighs are thinner than the woman sitting next to me. Barely...

They just handed me a mini-bottle of Vendage Chardonnay. And no plastic cup. What am I? A hobo?

Mom and I have discovered that the only 2 seats together on Southwest's 3x3 configuration is the right side emergency exit over the right wing. And as the people now in charge of the emergency exit, we've also discovered that in the event of a land crash (as opposed to water or, apparently, mid-air), you're not supposed to open the emergency door if you see fire, smoke or debris.
Pardon me?
Dear Southwest Flight 4827, Chicago Midway to Oakland, If we crash (on land) and this fiery tin can is smoking and surrounded by strewn luggage, I'm busting out of this dead bird regardless of what the laminated instructions tell me to do. Not only that, I'm going first. And anyone with brains and balls should follow...

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Damn, Spots! You chow down at some snazzy ass places. I can barely afford a Rock Star and a grab bag of Doritos for dinner. Gavin might be a little low rent for you.

Anonymous said...

Gavin is too low IQ for the fabulous Ms. Spotswood. Her writing is both witty and hilariously entertaining. You must be smart to be funny. Gavin's not funny!

Anonymous said...

Right on sister. I'd be right behind you on that crash landing. Women and children can kiss my fast moving- every man for himself ass. Fire hurts.

Anonymous said...

Beth, it's "Fiorello".

Spots said...

Oh my god, really? I've always wondered what the hell Theorello was Italian for? Apparently Fiorello. Go fig...

somebody's uncle said...

No harm. You obviously mistook it for your uncle's aiport, the one where no plane ever departs or arrives. Good bar, though.