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Exactly - in that situation, then it makes sense to hurry off.
I can only imagine! I've got a decent amount of horror stories, but haven't flown anywhere near as much as you.
I think I'd rather be homeless than take another traveling job.
Nice work JS.
Six bucks and my right nut says we're not landing in Chicago.
Del: You play with your balls a lot.
Neal: I do NOT play with my balls.
Del: Larry Bird doesn't do as much ball-handling in one night as you do in an hour!
Neal: Are you trying to start a fight?
Del: No. I'm simply stating a fact. That's all. You fidget with your nuts a lot.
Neal: You know what'd make me happy?
Del: Another couple of balls, and an extra set of fingers?
Addendum to the fat flying story I posted earlier. I was squished between a stinkbutt (literally) and a hippopotamus disguised as a hippopotamus in the middle seat for a 5 hour flight. No aisle seat occupants anywhere within shouting distance of my position would even let me purchase their aisle seat, once they saw the vise they would be forced to experience. I stood it as long as I could, but somewhere over Memphis, I couldn't take it anymore, and got up to go stand in the back of the plane - which you could do at that time.
There were two flight attendants in formation, an diminutive African American Gay Blade, and a very cute blond with a big butt and small tatas, just what Uncle Nash likes to wrestle with sometimes. They asked me if anything was wrong, and I related my distaste for sardine exercising to them. "Well, Honey, you can just hang out back here with us until we have to serve", sez the pee-pee puffer. Great. Thinks I, out of the squeeze and into the realm of dodge the twinkle. The blond was a bit flirty, and kept checking out my package when she thought I wasn't looking, much the same as I was hers. Just let me get ahold of those cheeks baby and ....................... Just before we have to retake out seats to begin our descent into Orange County, I teasingly ask the blond if she would like to keep me company tonight. "I would, but I'll have to bring my husband. He likes to watch." she says. I demur, and start back up the center aisle, when our friendly swish-buckler sez: "I'M not doing anything in particular tonight."
I'm pretty sure I threatened the race-walking record for short sprints in my haste exit the air-craft.
This post was edited by Nashnole 14 months ago
Nash, you gotta post more in the threads outside of the upvote thread.
I've flown quite a bit from Houston to Seattle and the west coast which are 4-5 hour flights. I almost always got bumped to 1st because I had so many miles, but if I didn't, I'd always go stand for a couple hours at the food/drink station and chat with the staff.
That was post 9/11. Are they not supposed to allow that now? It might have just been they got to know me and didn't care and they were usually late flights where most people were sleeping. They'd usually give me free booze, too.
I guess I flew 70+ flights a year for a long time. I love to read, and devoured stuff while waiting in airports as well as in flight.
Now Uncle Nash is not very fond of egg sandwiches. I had left a trade show floor in Vegas, at which one of my existing clients had told me they wanted to build a totally new trade show exhibit, foot print to be 60' x 80', two stories of space, and lots of graphics and extra furniture. They told me I had a budget of $750,000.00 for the build out and $250,000.00 for the new ad campaign graphics and creative. If I was careful, I could get a 10% commission on that project, and at the very least 7.5%. Not too shabby and needed as my daughters kept dropping grand kids in my lap with the unspoken codicil that "Papa", had better start up ANOTHER 529 College fund for this little dookey smelling, squealing little bundle of pink poo. I was in a rush to make my outbound flight, and the only thing food-wise I could grab at the last minute was an egg salad sandwich.
I'm on cloud $$$$$$, as I already had well over $2,000,000.00 in sales logged for the year, through hard work and the travel I put in to be with my customers where they did their out of office 3D marketing. I board the aircraft, and sure enough my aisle seat is waiting for me. Ahhhhhhhh, settle in, break out the book, read a bit and stand by for take off. Well, it looks more and more like it is going to be a full flight, CRAP, I was hoping for at least the middle seat to stay empty. Along comes an elderly couple, in their late 70's I guess, atottering up the aisle and looking for their row number. You guessed it! Company! They argue over who gets the window, while Uncle Nash is left to get their carry-ons in the overhead storage bin, which almost calls for a chain hoist, their junk is so heavy.
So we all get settled in, and their argument continues. He is a bit conservative and she is a degenerate gambler. From what I could gather, she loves the slots, and the high-dollar ones to boot. She lost a bit over $6K. and he's getting tore into her about it. I try to ignore them, when all of a sudden one of them, I can't be sure which, cuts a loud, explosive fart. I was so immersed in my book, it startled me. A moment or two later, a noxious aroma permeates our area, and you can see everyone around us flinch and screw up their face to smell such putridity. I hold my breath as long as I can, but the damage to my olfactory portals has already been done. No sooner than the gaseous effluent abates, than HERE IT COMES AGAIN! Jeeze Loueeze! It smells like road-kill!
I held my breath yet again, and missed most of the green cloud. Now. My book is totally forgotten, and I'm listening for the thunderclap of yet another butt bomb, when sure enough KERBLAMMO. Another breaking of the sound barrier. All I can think of to do, is grab the sack with my sammy, break it's wrapper, and hold the bag over my nose so as to not have to have my nasal hairs singed off. This proves to be some surcease, and all the way back to Nashville, I use this dodge to protect myself.
To this day, if I come within 10 feet of an egg-salad sandwich, my gag reflex kicks in and I have to leave the drop zone.
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