Great Moments in Public Transportation

[naturallybeyoutiful]

Those kids who sell candy slay me. 

  Me, too! 

[Thistle]

my so and i have to fly from indianapolis to chicago, so they put us on a commuter plane.  i mean, like a 20 passenger one that you cant even stand up in.  of course, its pretty much full.

so and i head straight to the back, because then we can at least get three seats.  we sit down, clutching our doggie-bag of chicken strips from lunch at red lobster.

we sit there.  they drag us off the plane.  fog in chicago.

we get back on the plane.  we sit there.  they drag us back off the plane, presumably because someone looked out the window at o'hare and said "yup, still foggy!"

we get back on the  plane.  the pilots come on, looking all of 18 and 19 years old.  there is no cockpit door, just a curtain.  the one lonely steward tells us to buckle up, etc etc etc.

the plane takes off.  ten feet after wheels-up it literally starts bucking like one of those rides in a honky-tonk bar.  i get into my flying position, which is to wedge myself as far as possible into my seat, white-knuckling the armrests.

my so grabs the headrest in front of her, unknowingly putting a grip of death on the hair of the poor woman who was unfortunate enough to choose that seat.

every time the plane bucks, the woman goes something like "urgh!" because of course, her hair is getting yanked right out of her head.

the plane takes a violent drop in altitude.  our chicken strips return to life, flying down the length of the plane to be batted out of the air by the steward, who promptly grabs an airsickness bag and retches loudly.

cockpit alarms go off.  my so yells in my ear "whats that?  whats that?"  trying to be calming, i look at her and say "its SUPPOSED to do that" all the while trying to wedge myself even further under the seat in front of me.

finally after what seems an eternity, we land.

my so releases the poor woman in front of her, whom i suspect everyone will think is a cancer patient on chemotherapy.  my so looks down and drops a huge hank of hair on the floor.

as we get off the plane, people are stumbling into the terminal, thankful to be alive. 

"thank you for flying with us," the steward says as we get off.  i looked at her incredulously, because she was still holding her bag of vomit.  "go @#!* yourself" mutters the guy behind us.

we never did find out what happened to our chicken strips.
 

[A.]

NO WAY IN HELL is jumbo there gonna fit through the tiny emergency wing door. They are gonna find his ass sticking into the cabin and 100 dead Asian tourists backed up behind him. 

I'm sorry, PC people, but I couldn't help but at that one.

And I never let people raise the armrests.  If you can't fit in your space, you should have bought two.  Or three.

[Burning Sands, Esq.]

my so and i have to fly from indianapolis to chicago, so they put us on a commuter plane.  i mean, like a 20 passenger one that you cant even stand up in.  of course, its pretty much full.

so and i head straight to the back, because then we can at least get three seats.  we sit down, clutching our doggie-bag of chicken strips from lunch at red lobster.

we sit there.  they drag us off the plane.  fog in chicago.

we get back on the plane.  we sit there.  they drag us back off the plane, presumably because someone looked out the window at o'hare and said "yup, still foggy!"

we get back on the  plane.  the pilots come on, looking all of 18 and 19 years old.  there is no cockpit door, just a curtain.  the one lonely steward tells us to buckle up, etc etc etc.

the plane takes off.  ten feet after wheels-up it literally starts bucking like one of those rides in a honky-tonk bar.  i get into my flying position, which is to wedge myself as far as possible into my seat, white-knuckling the armrests.

my so grabs the headrest in front of her, unknowingly putting a grip of death on the hair of the poor woman who was unfortunate enough to choose that seat.

every time the plane bucks, the woman goes something like "urgh!" because of course, her hair is getting yanked right out of her head.

the plane takes a violent drop in altitude.  our chicken strips return to life, flying down the length of the plane to be batted out of the air by the steward, who promptly grabs an airsickness bag and retches loudly.

cockpit alarms go off.  my so yells in my ear "whats that?  whats that?"  trying to be calming, i look at her and say "its SUPPOSED to do that" all the while trying to wedge myself even further under the seat in front of me.

finally after what seems an eternity, we land.

my so releases the poor woman in front of her, whom i suspect everyone will think is a cancer patient on chemotherapy.  my so looks down and drops a huge hank of hair on the floor.

as we get off the plane, people are stumbling into the terminal, thankful to be alive. 

"thank you for flying with us," the steward says as we get off.  i looked at her incredulously, because she was still holding her bag of vomit.  "go @#!* yourself" mutters the guy behind us.

we never did find out what happened to our chicken strips.
 

This is my other beef with flying.  Turbulence.  That and the fact that if the smallest thing goes wrong with the plane during one of these violent fits of turbulence, you will die.

I thing its the fear of death that never allows me to sleep on plane.  Ever.  Not even after staying up all night drinking Knobb Creek and taking sleeping pills.  I don't rest until we get back on the ground.

[A.]

I'm fine once we reach an altitude at which I can say, "Even if the engines stop working, we can just sail down.  Right?  Right?" (I actually googled this once, despite the risk to my potentially false sense of security, and it's actually true).

ETA: http://www.thetravelinsider.info/2003/0314.htm

[Special Agent Dana Scully]

my so and i have to fly from indianapolis to chicago, so they put us on a commuter plane.  i mean, like a 20 passenger one that you cant even stand up in.  of course, its pretty much full.

so and i head straight to the back, because then we can at least get three seats.  we sit down, clutching our doggie-bag of chicken strips from lunch at red lobster.

we sit there.  they drag us off the plane.  fog in chicago.

we get back on the plane.  we sit there.  they drag us back off the plane, presumably because someone looked out the window at o'hare and said "yup, still foggy!"

we get back on the  plane.  the pilots come on, looking all of 18 and 19 years old.  there is no cockpit door, just a curtain.  the one lonely steward tells us to buckle up, etc etc etc.

the plane takes off.  ten feet after wheels-up it literally starts bucking like one of those rides in a honky-tonk bar.  i get into my flying position, which is to wedge myself as far as possible into my seat, white-knuckling the armrests.

my so grabs the headrest in front of her, unknowingly putting a grip of death on the hair of the poor woman who was unfortunate enough to choose that seat.

every time the plane bucks, the woman goes something like "urgh!" because of course, her hair is getting yanked right out of her head.

the plane takes a violent drop in altitude.  our chicken strips return to life, flying down the length of the plane to be batted out of the air by the steward, who promptly grabs an airsickness bag and retches loudly.

cockpit alarms go off.  my so yells in my ear "whats that?  whats that?"  trying to be calming, i look at her and say "its SUPPOSED to do that" all the while trying to wedge myself even further under the seat in front of me.

finally after what seems an eternity, we land.

my so releases the poor woman in front of her, whom i suspect everyone will think is a cancer patient on chemotherapy.  my so looks down and drops a huge hank of hair on the floor.

as we get off the plane, people are stumbling into the terminal, thankful to be alive. 

"thank you for flying with us," the steward says as we get off.  i looked at her incredulously, because she was still holding her bag of vomit.  "go @#!* yourself" mutters the guy behind us.

we never did find out what happened to our chicken strips.
 

This is my other beef with flying.  Turbulence.  That and the fact that if the smallest thing goes wrong with the plane during one of these violent fits of turbulence, you will die.

I thing its the fear of death that never allows me to sleep on plane.  Ever.  Not even after staying up all night drinking Knobb Creek and taking sleeping pills.  I don't rest until we get back on the ground.

I remember flying home from disney when i was 16.  i was in the middle, my older cousin to the left, my best friend to the right--and my mom was around somewhere.  i was dead sleep.  then we hit major turbulence.  but iw as still sleeping.  so my cousing--28 at the time--wakes my ass up bc she's scared.  i was like, yo, why would you wake me?  if something is gonna happen (aka, we crash), i'd rather stay asleep!

[LadyKD]

I'm fine once we reach an altitude at which I can say, "Even if the engines stop working, we can just sail down.  Right?  Right?" (I actually googled this once, despite the risk to my potentially false sense of security, and it's actually true).

ETA: http://www.thetravelinsider.info/2003/0314.htm

Okay you need to send this one in to Mythbusters..I am not seeing how a jumbo jet is just going to sail to the ground..not buying it.

[A.]

Lol why not?  It has to fly somehow...they don't keep the engines going at full strength during the entire flight.

[LadyKD]

Lol why not?  It has to fly somehow...they don't keep the engines going at full strength during the entire flight.

I guess. I mean the space shuttle is a big plane and it does glide in to land once back in the earths atmosphere..granted it does have to enter the atmosphere at a weird angle or something.

[A.]

Exactly.  See, isn't that comforting?