I Don't Like People (Why I Hate Flying)

I'm a big fan of the concept of air travel. It's quick, it's relatively simple, and, when you're flying with someone you know, it's not so bad. But I absolutely hate flying alone because, when you fly alone, you end up sitting next to someone you don't know and that person is always suffering under the delusion that, because you have to sit next to them for four hours, you're suddenly best friends.

These are the people who want to talk to you.

These are the people I hate.

Now, I never initiate conversation with strangers but, under normal circumstances, if a stranger tries to talk to me, I attempt to be a mammal. I'll say 'hi, I'll say 'how are you,' I'll wish you a 'merry Christmas.' But, if you try to talk to me on after I got up at 5 AM to catch this plane and went through the torture that is airport security, you're poking a timber-rattler with a pixie stick.

This is how it goes.

I'm sitting in my seat. I'm comfortable. I'm reading a book. Then, someone walks up to the seat next to me and stares at it for a full minute. Then, they're all like, "I think this might be my seat." And I'm like, "I don't think you need to guess because your seat number is on your ticket and you are LITERALLY holding your ticket in your hand."

Then they sit down and get all compfortable and I go back to reading my book. And once they see that you're good and engrossed, they're all like "so where are you going?" And I'm like, "the same place as you since we're on the same plane." Of course, what they're really asking is "do you have a connecting flight;" they're just so excited to be on a plane that they can't phrase a coherent question. 

Thus, my answer is always Toronto. 

Now, I haven't been to Canada since 1999, but I've been on my way to Toronto many times since. That's because, when you're going to Toronto, everyone just assumes that you're a maple syrup importer looking for your next victim.

Never ever say that you're going to Puerto Rico -- which is where I'm usually actually going. If you tell someone that you're going to Puerto Rico, this is how the conversation is going to go:

"Oh, you're going to Puerto Rico? How fun! I've never been out of the country."

"Actually," (In your sweetest possible tone) "Puerto Rico is part of the US."

"Is it really? How cool. I should really get a passport so I can go there."

"Actually, you don't need a passport since it's part of the United States."

"That's convienent! What's the conversation rate?"

"Well, it's 1 to 1 since you don't need to change money because IT'S PART OF THE UNITED STATES."

"So, they're on the dollar now?"

"Lemme put it this way, is Miami on the dollar?"

"Oh gee, I've never been to Florida."

At this point, I'm usually about ready to offer the other person $100 to never talk to me again. 

But it just keeps getting worse. After they've been sufficiently confussed by the idea that Puerto Rico is in fact part of the US, they usually decide to talk about the beach. After all, they've been to the Jersey Shore; they're on firm ground here.

They're all like, "I bet you go to the beach everyday."

And I'm like, "No." Because most people lack the notion that islands are not 100% beach 100% of the time.

Then they're like, "I bet you get really tan."

And I'm like, "Mofo, does it look like I tan????"

If you're reading this blog, you probably know me; but, if you don't, let me just say that I am one of the palest people you will ever meet. Unless I wear SPF 80, I don't burn, I sear like ahi-tuna. 

Once I communicate this, the other person is like, "if you don't go to the beach and you don't tan, why are you going to Puerto Rico."

At which point, I'm like "I'm going for the syrup festival because I'm actually going to Toranto."

I wish you a merry Christmas as I step on a plane bound for Puerto Rico.

Just sayin.