| rev:text
| - A Running Internal Monologue on a Flight to Seattle, in One Act:
Act I
5:57am:
I think my journey to the airport may be the target of some grand, smoky-back-room conspiracy on the part of the Phoenician infrastructure. Here's an ambulance! And a police car blocking the freeway! And traffic! And a long train obstructing your road! And slow Wi-Fi so your Google Maps can't load! Ruthy, we shall keep you here by force! Phoenix is superior to Seattle! You shall not pass (go or collect $200).
(Phoenix, as it turns out, is an individual who communicates effusively, with exclamation points. And makes cliché references to Lord of the Rings and Monopoly.)
7:32am:
I think there is too much leg room. (In this generation of internet users, the appropriate response here is, "Said no one ever?"). But truly, there is in fact too much leg room. The thing is, there comes a point in your life where you have mastered the technique of airplane sleeping. This includes and is necessarily limited to hunkering down, knees pushing the person-in-front-of-you's chair, socked feet dangling, head cocked towards the window, eyes wandering wistfully outside at cloud shadows of unicorns cavorting with purple-headed prairie dogs. Now, then. When airlines spitefully decide to increase your leg room, the hunkering equation comes out all wrong. For shame, Delta. For shame.
8:47am:
[Entering the airplane restroom] I've found Lilliput*!
*Jonathan Swift thought the setting of Gulliver's Travels, Book I, was Tasmania. It was actually this airplane restroom, where everyone who enters is no less than a giant in a little, teensy-weensy doll house.
9:15am:
[Reading ICU book] Do you think it's offensive to assume that this lady from Singapore and this gentleman from India sitting next to me are smarter than I am and can answer these questions I have about capnography? Better not risk it. Though they look appropriately fatigued, very consistent with that whole doctor-ish look.
9:52am:
In-flight cookies! And coffee! And do you have more creamer? And more sugar? And more creamer again? Just bring more creamers, please and thank you. And while you're at it, sometimes I also enjoy sugar in my coffee.
10:40am:
[Several steps outside airport] There is a man carrying an oversized award check towards his taxi cab. Normally this would be the point where I would crack an internal joke at his expense. But perhaps I won't this time. I mean, it's one of those heavyweight boxing championship award checks. And they practice psychic mind tricks at Crossfit nowadays. I mean, that's why everyone raves about it, right?
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