Getting Drunk in First Class

Preface: No TD worth 2 cents would ever fly Southpest if he has a choice…

There I was, waiting to board the glamorous 737. Amazing the TD that I am, I managed to check-in 5 minutes after the pre-24 hour mark before take-off to secure the all-too-coveted ‘A’ seating area.

Being a TD in other realms (i.e. United, American), I forgot that you cannot simply show up 30 minutes prior to your flight and expect to have a good seat by default. Remember, we’re dealing with flying cattle buses here; There are no assigned seats.

I sigh as I see a meat factory of first-time vacationers, fliers, and obnoxious, shoulda-been-aborted kids waiting in line about 30 or 40 deep in the A line. These people probably paid $80 each way and now they think they deserve to have the luxury of … *gasp* … an aisle seat or the precious 11A, 11B, or 11C exit row seats? These mother fuckers…

There I am… almost in the zombie world of the B line. God forbid you’re stuck in the C seating area. Talk about mouth-breathers that should be terminated via firing squad. These are the same gate lice that rear their ugly heads waiting to board planes on my preferred airline. Ugh, somehow, they keep being born and I don’t know why.

How the hell did I get stuck on a Southpest meat wagon again, anyways? Who the hell knows.. availability… price… I have no idea? Either way, I am sure I will prevent it from happening again.

I claim injury and disability and achieve pre-boarding status. So much for the A group. Only a dickhead can pull that excuse off and we won’t be revealing our secrets here. But god damn it felt good to board before all those smelly cows and secure a sweet seat.

I plop my bag in (sideways, how else?) the overhead space and take a seat in 11C, arguably the only worthy, decent seat on this piece of shit plane. In short time, I’m confronted by a smiley, polo-shirted, khaki-wearing Southwest employee asking me if I am okay with the exit seat responsibilities. Of course, you fuck, do I need to show you my United Global Services member card? I fucking fly all of the time so go back to the galley and start mixing up that dirty martini with blue-cheese-stuffed olives. What’s that? No dirty martinis, no martini glasses and no blue-cheese-stuffed olives? I’m fucking out of here… christ.

Naturally, this is where the complaining starts to fade. You have to give Southwest some credit, however, since they are the only profitable fucking U.S. airline that exists right now. A paltry 10% return-on-assets ain’t bad in an industry with incredible bankruptcy filings and billion-dollar write-offs. Plus, they are quite efficient and speedy, getting into the air quickly and getting people on and off the cattle wagon as fast as possible.

As we get into the air, they begin taking the beverage orders. I immediately toss my Southwest drink coupon books at the attendant and make sure she understands I want everything on the fuckin’ menu and to keep ‘em comin’. This is Southwest’s version of First Class even though they don’t actually have it. Hey, a TD has to improvise or emulate whenever and wherever possible. Besides, if I have to be stuck on this hole of a plane, I might as well matriculate into an alcoholic coccoon.

And what of the fat fuck sitting next to me in 11B?

Didn’t he get the memo about being a fat shit and that he should lose some fucking weight? I’m sure the memo neglected to clearly state how his lava fat pours into his neighbors’ seats on airplanes with already skinny fucking seats. God damn it… where hell is the fat rule? Here, you fat fuck, here is my United Airlines’ plastic knife, start cutting off all that lard and sell it. … Or maybe they should publicly ridicule fat people. Get them some animal cages and load them into baggage storage below. Hell, even run them through baggage claim so they arrive at the carousel and flow out like processed sasuage links fresh from the meat grinder. Speaking of meat grinders… Fat fucks…

And then the screaming fucking child.. mother fucker. They should lower the drinking age so we can pacify these fucking animals. Even my noise-cancelling earphones don’t necessarily block out even the most horrid-sounding child who sits in the aisle seat next to you. Damn it kid, go back to sucking your mother’s tits or thumb or something but please, for the love of god, help me prevent a worse-hangover by shutting-the-fuck UP.

Now, of course, row 11 ain’t bad in terms of leg room but it actually seems to encourage the fat fucks who also may be sitting in the row to the go to the bathroom more often, thus climbing over yours truly (yea, a drunk TD).

To counter and reduce the frequency of this behavior, I also get up and out of the row and proceed to the lavatory and take a huge shit and spend about 5 minutes in the bathroom making these fat fucks wait. I figure if they’re willing to wait 5 minutes and then smell my shit, they must really need to go. Hopefully, they’ll get the mother fucking hint next time around.

By now I am thoroughly tossed into oblivion after about 5 glasses (oh sorry, plastic cups) of cabernet. I’m quite sure I’ve soiled the feet of the fat fuck and now I’ve realized his fat has advantages: it acts as a fluffy, comfortable pillow. Hell, even better than the soft pillows Southpest already provides. I’m pretty sure I hear the fat fuck grumble or maybe try to shake me off. But he knows I know he is too big, fat, and dumb to be able to move his large sausage casing around in his seat in order to escape my luxurious habitat for sleep. Better luck next time, sucka. Oh… and try the pre-boarding process… you look like you actually need it, bitch.

And thus is life flying on Southpest… Getting Drunk in Economy. Even the life of a TD can get rough at times, ya know, when you’re not racing around dirt parks in a rented Cadillac DTS or flying first class on Singapore airlines and of course, getting smashed.