Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Dear Mr. Flight Captain Person,
It is not necessary to tell me how many feet about ground we are currently located. I really do not want to know as I'm quite phobic of heights (and airline stewardesses. I hate suntan pantyhose.)
It would also be nice if the "fasten seatbelts" warning chime sounded more like "ding dong" and less like an ominous "uh-oh."
And please put more than one barf bag in the seat back behind my upright tray table.
Also, I would really appreciate not being seated next to a morbidly obese couple from Arizona who are flying for the very first time, to see their momma (yes, they have the same momma) in Texarkana. They will only order six miniature Jack Daniels and proceed to pass out, and then, in his sleep, between sawing logs, the husband will cough up approximately six (6) phlegm globbers, which he will spew like Old Faithful into the air. One will hit my tray table in its upright locked position and begin its slow and insidious descent towards my naked knee.
And your stewardess won't be able to do anything about it because you have overbooked the flight and I cannot escape or move, not even to cower in the blue water of the flying, metal robot crapper, which would be preferable to Captain Horky, but there is no standing allowed outside the restroom because I just might be a toilet-bombing terrorist.
Which is why I am asking for the barf bags. To cram onto Horky's head - I promise to cut out the eye holes, but no mouth hole, okay? Or else, please provide a button which will cause the oxygen masks to descend so that passengers plagued with a seatmate's b.o. can continue to breathe, or alternatively, strangle them with the tubing.
I will be sure to thank you next time I decide to hurtle through the air at 500 mph in a souped-up can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.