Small Potatoes (at 40,000 feet)

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{The Sous Chef and I are currently visiting family in Central Washington.  This week's Small Potatoes was inspired by our flight out here…}


1.  To the elderly couple with way too much luggage and not enough patience: Don't cut in front of me to beat me to the security line and then make me move out of the way ten minutes later when you finally realize that this is the security line, not baggage check.

2.  To the Rude Dude sitting in front of me: The least you could do is turn around, make eye contact, and give me some sort of head nod to acknowledge the fact that you're going to be an ass and take away my precious three inches of leg room by tilting your seat back as far as possible.  You suck.  I don't like you.

3.  And how awesome is it that five minutes after putting your seat back and forcing me to squish my laptop up into my chest, you promptly fell asleep leaning forward?  I am this close to throwing my pretzels at you.

4.  There should be a rule about having kids in first/business class.  The last thing I'd want is to pay all that extra money and then be forced to sit next to an annoying, albeit rich, child.  My thinking is, if you haven't hit puberty, you shouldn't be allowed on the nice side of the fancy curtains.  Please note that I'm writing this while sitting in coach.

5.  To the airline: If you promise me free Wi-Fi on every flight, then give me my damn Wi-Fi.  Where is my Wi-Fi?

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6.  To the granola Portland chick sitting next to us: Don't bring plants on board.  My horticulturist husband will judge you and mentally accuse you of spreading invasive insect species across the country.  Yes, he noticed you and your willow tree branch an hour ago when we were in line at Dunkin' Donuts.  And of course, you ended up sitting next to us on the same flight, so now he has to stare at your contraband tree cutting for the entire flight.  Because that's how the universe works.

7.  Hey lady sitting two rows behind me - yes, you, the one who is separated from her obnoxious brood by an aisle and one unfortunate stranger: Unbuckle your seat belt, get up, and discipline your kids.  If yelling their names over and over again while staring at them doesn't work on the ground, it sure as heck won't work at 40,000 feet up.

8.  To Sam and William (a.k.a. The Obnoxious Brood): We all know who you are.  Watch out.


Fly well.

P.S.  If you are a creepy blog-stalker who thinks, "Ooh, she's out of town, I can go rob her house," think again.  We've got house sitters.  And one of them is an Italian from New Jersey.  Stay away.