Caterwauling

Editor’s note: Heh, just found this entry stuck in my “drafts” folder, where lots of rants appear that should never be published (and clearly aren’t!). But this one’s benign enough to share. Enjoy!

Actually, it was thanks for the tips, as the housekeeping staff at my hotel actually left me a little note to thank me for tipping them. I thought that was sweet — nice to know that they actually care that you show up.

Although, I admit that I wonder about those kind folks whom you wish you could hire to clean up cat shit landmines before you get home late each night, tired and definitely not in the mood to inhale eau de cat ass the second you stick the key in the door. It’s bad enough the cats try to escape once the door is opened, but once you smell them, well damn, you wonder why you didn’t let them escape!

Ahem.

Anyway,. I’m convinced housekeeping staff booby-trap the place or otherwise fuck with you for shits and giggles. I have no doubt that they purposely change the lever on the shower so that you get rained on when just the day before, you know for a fact you last took a bath and didn’t switch the water flow to the damn shower head.

Well, as long as nobody’s wiping their ass with my toothbrush, I’m happy. I already have a potty mouth, thanks much!

I write this entry from 37,500 feet above ground in an obnoxiously uncomfortable seat aboard US Airways. I used to love flying, but right now, the jury’s still out on it. I know that neither my convenience nor enjoyment is anyone’s priority. That said, I’ve been on my feet for days and have slept a combined 10 hours during the past five nights. And when my plane touches down I’ve got to sit in D.C. rush hour traffic before trying to catch a quick snooze and getting up to do a little bit of work.

This particular flight is taking the cake for miserable air travel, however. I’ve tried to sleep. I’ve got a blankie, two pillows and a vitamin and sleeping pill in my system. (Vitamins make me queasy — good for making me want to pass out.)

But as I sit here in seat 22D, the only highlight of which is that it’s an aisle seat and nobody is sitting between me and the guy in the window seat (the only seat open on the flight — I checked), I’ve got the flight attendants right behind me.

And those FUCKERS have been chatting away quite happily and loudly for the past four goddamned hours. I have emitted about 7 million of my patented Heavy Exasperated Sighs and even resorted about 50 times to pulling the blanket over my head and attempting to strangle myself with it. I hate them. I’m so going to complain about this.

The seats are way too small and with the asshole in front of me being reclined, I’ve got the laptop half-open and am typing without actually looking at the keys/reading the screen. Which I happen to be good at, but come on already.

My seat doesn’t recline — of course, that’s a good thing ’cause my head would be in the toilet. Which, I’m afraid to say, might bring me much more auditory joy than listening to the cackling bitch who’s been drinking coffee all evening and yapping about her damn husband.

Would it be wrong if I hit the “needs assistance” button and when Yapper Flapper comes over, to request her compliance in wrapping the cord of my oxygen mask around her throat? 😉

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 26th, 2006 at 7:42 PM and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.