You know ‘em… and you hate ‘em. TDs hate ‘em too. Though occasionally we don’t hate ‘em as much on United because of the few routes where they fly ex-Plus. Now, the first class seats in ex-Plus are kind of like a watered down domestic first class experience (not to mention the fact that domestic first class is watered down and sucks too) but at least the booze isn’t watered down; We’d be stuffing bottles of Glenlivet 18 into our carry-ons if that was the case… son’s of bitches.
Of course, you have ‘that guy’ in the short-sleeved flannel shirt with a braided rat tail, earrings, biker boots, and ripped levi jeans plopping his ass in the exit row and thinking he can hide his roller bag between his legs without the flight attendant noticing. She almost didn’t except for the kind, gentle (yet mother fucking) old bag ‘o bones senior citizen next to me who pointed out to the flight attendant, “That guy doesn’t have his bag under the seat! Waaa”. He’s right, but I would prefer that he take a warm-glass-of-shut-the-fuck-up so this plane can take off on time especially since the plane had already pushed back from the gate. The FA could not find any room so we had to pull the regional p.o.s. back forward, load the dickwad’s bag into the belly of the mini-beast, and finally take off. This stupid fuck didn’t know that you just leave your roller bag outside by the gate, get a fucking tag, and when you de-plane, your bag is magically waiting for you. Shazam!
As if that wasn’t bad enough, he is stealing booze off of the flight attendants cart thinking that she wouldn’t notice. First of all, what a moron since any TD knows this technique well but this guy is clumsy and is going to cause the FA to keep a closer eye on things making it even more difficult; What a total fucking moron. It’s as if the flight attendant doesn’t count the bottles before the flight or have a set of eyes; I mean, really. Unfortunately, the flight attendant opted not to make a scene and didn’t say anything. I’m surprised the bag ‘o bones sitting next to me didn’t tell on rat boy and make a big fucking stink about it.
Let us not forget about the 70 year old droopy tits who quit school in the 8th grade to take 9-month shits and don’t know the difference between seating area 1 and 4. These gate lice stand in front of the TD flyers and slowly make their way down the jet way making you shuffle behind them. When you blast pass them [and of course make sure your roller bag goes over their boney toes] they give you a dirty look like you should respect and feel sorry for them. “Fuck you, I hope you trip and break your hip.” Is that a bit extreme? Indeed, but so is flying 60 segments so you don’t have to stand behind these walking turds and watch them take your overhead luggage space, possibly preventing you from doing the old horizontal loading technique. These sweet old bags can kiss my ass and wait.
As you’re settling into your “premium” exit row seat on your economy cabin regional jet, you look in horror as the fattest asshole you’ve seen since Fat Bastard waddles onto the plane. This guy’s ass is so big he has to turn it to the side to make it down the aisle. At this point you are screwed; he’s either going to brush his smelly asshole by your face or his little penis that he hasn’t seen in a decade. As this thought crosses your mind, you hope the guy is sitting towards the front of the plane; except if he sat in the front, the jet would probably become a lawn dart and crash on takeoff. Hence the concept of “balancing the weight” as a cause of frequent delays for smaller jets.
As the fat bastard nears he looks right into your eyes. “Oh fuck no, this pile of lard is going to be encroaching me during this entire flight,” you think to yourself (or maybe out loud, depending on your TD skill level). He keeps walking.To your dismay, he brushes his ass up against your face anyways. Finally he waddles by your seat. A calm passes over you and you hope that the guy sits on one of those bag ‘o bones who thought seating area 4 meant seating area 1 back by the shitter.
It happens even to the best of us; sooner or later, we all get stuck on a shitty project stuck in the middle of ho-dunk mother fucking nowhere. To add injury to insult, you’ll find yourself stuck in a regional flying turd every week to hell and back racking up 500 miles per segment. Its like they say, “When it rains, it pours (shit)”