Up in the Air

Up in the Air

After saying a prayer that the pilot wasn't the guy next to me throwing back Jack and cokes at the lounge before my flight, hoping I don't have to elbow the guy next to me or kick the seat of the guy in front of me, I threw up a peace sign (what up Bone!) and braced for departure. We made our way above the clouds and cruised at 32,000 feet, and then I cruised into a dream. When I woke, we were 30 minutes outside of Dallas and I spent the next 30 minutes listening to the most ignorant conversation I've heard in a while.

Aside from the fact that one guy kept trying to use his cell phone, three young guys (races undisclosed) were having a conversation full of lies about strippers, Hennessey and who knows what else. They were old enough to know their conversation was inappropriate, but ignorant enough to not give an F. I heard the dreaded "F bomb" and the skinny white kid next to me cringed when a barrage of Nigga this, Nigga that was unleashed. At that point I glanced down the row and they realized they crossed the line. Imagine that, me the "N-word" police, guess that happens when the users aren't African-American.

So, now I'm sitting in the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport for a three and a half hour layover. That's what happens when your job makes travel arrangements on the Thursday before your trip. The girls are studying; I'm trying to get some Southern Hospitality and watching basketball. They say everything is bigger in Texas, this airport sure is! Time to scope the lounges for drunk pilots...