Finally, I’m able to write again. We just got home from a fabulous Christmas & New Years trip to sunny Phoenix, Arizona. Because my last post was about how WONDERFUL of an experience we had whilst flying home from Curacao, I thought I’d stay aboard the Shitty Travel Experiences train and poo poo about the craptacular fun time we had getting to Phoenix.
I’ll try to involve less terms of defecation from here on out.
So we get up at the ass crack of dawn (that didn’t last long) and mosey on over to the airport. Because we’re geniuses, we didn’t have any checked baggage. Man, that is THEE way to fly. Because we aren’t ballers, we couldn’t fly direct. Instead, we stopped in Calgary first. We only realized the night before that we have about 45 minutes in Calgary to get through customs and on the plane to Phoenix. Perfect. Who doesn’t love a morning sprint through an airport whilst carrying bags?
Me. Often, if not always.
Apparently there were about 12 other people who booked the same shit, so we were all in a panic when the pilot came on and said we had a mechanical issue that wouldn’t take too long. And then the de-icing because Canada.
FINALLY, we’re off. About 10 seconds later, we’re in Calgary. Everyone is ready to do a mad dash to get through customs.
BRING FORTH THE SPRINTING.
We get to the customs line and there’s a billion people ahead of us. Graeme naturally yells out “ANYONE ELSE DESPERATE TO CATCH THEIR FLIGHT….?” Everyone just casually looks around and don’t answer. Bitch, this is CUSTOMS, ain’t nobody gone let you cut in line.
We were the first to arrive at customs from the 12 others. We get through customs and start running again. We have someone stop us and help us get through security. Hurray, we can cut lines here!
I rip my shoes and jacket off, throw my purse and bag in a bin, and the security woman asks “how are you today?”
Me: Ohhh just rushing, our plane leaves in about 5 minutes!
Security: Just so you’re aware, I personally don’t care.
OH OKAY. THAT’S COOL.
THEN WHY’D YOU ASK.
I wasn’t looking…for anything…from you. You asked me how I was doing, THAT IS HOW I WAS DOING. Good lord, it’s like she thought I had a gun to her head and was forcing her to get me through to my plane faster. NOPE. I’M ALREADY…AT SECURITY…YOU’RE THE LAST STOP BEFORE THE PLANE SO.
Jesus. Man was I pissed. PISSED.
Then, naturally, she had to inspect my bag. Girl please.
Security: Ma’am, do you have a candle in your purse?
Me: NOPE THAT’S COCONUT OIL I HAVE UNDER 100ML OR WHATEVER IT IS IT’S JUST REAL GOOD FOR MY FACE THANKS.
I get sent through. Graeme just tells me to grab my shit and go ahead. GO FIND THE PLANE. TELL THEM TO WAIT. No problem. Back to that cardio thing I love oh so much. Thankfully, I didn’t have to run far. As soon as the Air Canada people saw me they yelled “PHOENIX!?!?! PHOENIX?!?! ARE YOU GOING TO PHOENIX?!?!”
I AM EMPHATICALLY GOING TO PHOENIX.
We all made it. All 12 of us Edmontonians going to Phoenix. It was a celebration. I definitely did not see that coming. I thought for SURE we’d miss the flight.
But this isn’t where the garbage flight ended. NAY.
We get seated, we celebrate, we take off. I bust out my iPod, put my chair in reverse a bit and chill the hell out. I start noticing Graeme getting frustrated and he turned around to look at who was behind him. He turns back. I take me earbuds out and ask what’s up. Apparently the chick behind him would NOT stop kicking his seat. She was kicking it, shaking it, practically punching it. So he looks at her again and gives her a Could You Fucking Not look.
Could You Fucking Not Chick in an extremely unnecessary tone: Okay you can keep turning around and glaring at me but I am TRYING to get comfortable here so turn your face around and mind your business, it’s Christmas, you (looks at me) have your chair ALL the WAY back and my 6’3 husband has his knees up to his chin practically so
And then I stopped listening because wow. Like, show a HINT of fucking chill. All you literally had to do was tap me on the shoulder and say “hey my 6’3 husband is 6’3, do you mind putting your seat up? also, I’m not comfortable either….” and you know what we would do?
“sure, no problem.”
USE YOUR WORDS, MA’AM.
She went on and on and ON. Finally I just kind of, forced Graeme to turn back around and be like forget this bitch, but naturally, he turned back around said “all you had to do was ask….Carolyn, can you move your chair back up?” please note this was in a Talking To A Three Year Old tone and 6’3 husband was like “no, you could have asked.”
AND YOUR MOM.
AND YOUR LITTLE DOG TOO.
Other than all of this, THE FLIGHTS WERE GREAT?
People, what a bunch of bastards.