Keep Calm, Move Along

The one thing one should ALWAYS keep in mind when flying to Orlando is to never, ever fly to Orlando. EVER.

Yes, our pilot was totally hot (no, I did not pull a Liz Lemon and stage a mutiny – but I was THIS close), and my exit row seat provided me three more glorious inches than usual, but the entire plane, the ENTIRE PLANE was full to the brim with prepubescent bundles of absolute terror all jumping in their seats in expectation for Disney World. I don’t think I have ever experienced as much hate towards Mickey Mouse as I did for those last four hours.

http://sirmitchell.tumblr.com/ - Check him, yo.

And you know what? I was totally fine with that. Peachy, in fact. They were strapped in – what possible harm, apart from a little seat-kicking, could they get up to? No, it was the parents I worried about. And I was right to worry. OH, was I right.

The entirety of our flight was narrated by a born-and-raised Rhode Island woman who punctuated her furious texting with an occasional gum smack and a running commentary of EVERYTHING that was happening out the window AT ALL times. After a particularly bumpy bout of turbulence, said woman literally repeated at LEAST once every five minutes that “it was like the ground fell out from under me,” to which I almost snarkily replied that it had, indeed, fallen out from under her upon take-off. Also, that amazingly the rest of had us felt the same thing she did, and did not need her to re-remind us that we were traveling at high speeds in a small, enclosed container, in mid-air with HER.

Artistic rendition of this woman. And by artistic, I mean this is a picture of Snooki. Use your imagination.

Her main concern, apart from making sure we all knew the blow-by-blow of her titillating plane experience, was the lack of sunshine in Orlando needed to “get her tan on,” and regulating her young child’s music selection. This is how, after I had finally managed to get some sleep, I was lulled awake by the dulcet tones of “I’m a Slave 4 U” (spelling: Britney can has it?).

An approximation of my hair at this point in the story

Okay, guys, I admit – I love Britney as much as the next ‘90s child. Yet there is something that is fundamentally wrong to me about playing this music, sans headphones, on a four-hour plane full of children under the age of ten. I dunno, that’s just my opinion on the matter.

Another of my opinions got me in a little more trouble, as the plane was coasting to a stop and “I’m a Slave 4” My Tan STANDS UP while the plane is STILL MOVING, yanks her kid up, and is confused as to why the entire row in front of her, in unison, tell her to “SIT (the f***k) DOWN.” Not to be deterred, this woman has the nerve to bad-talk me as I grab my bag from the overhead compartment and get off in front of her, despite actually BEING in front of her. In fact, she attempts to pretend I have hit her child. 

Meth is like parenthood: it does things to people. Specifically, it does Steve Buscemi to people.

Lady, I am this close to hitting something else. Just try me.

Moral of the story? Avoid children on planes. Because, and you’ll know this if you’ve ever been to a kiddie soccer game, the higher the parent to square foot ratio is, the more inexplicably ridiculous the insanity becomes.You just gotta:

OHAI, I like Star Wars. OMFG Star Wars. ALL day ERRY day.