Nothing to See Here…

Next time booking air travel, remember to ask the travel counselor “Is there a large tour group of senior citizens on that flight?  And if so, can you just shoot me now instead of putting me in an enclosed metal tube 35,000 feet in the air where I cannot scream or run away?”

Those poor flight attendants.

The flight got in at 9PM last night but I’m pretty sure the people back in row 33 are still waiting for the old fogies to move up the fucking aisle so they can get off the damn plane.  Thank god I was in row 9 because it only took me four hours to wait for the two biddies in front of me to disembark.

The good news is they were all wearing these necklace things that had their boarding passes, their names, and probably their medication schedules too.  It made it easier for me to say “Excuse me, Eleanor?  I know you’re having a swell conversation with your friend, Ada, here.  But you’re hanging onto my seat back for dear life and occasionally spraying spittle on me when you talk.  Now, that might be acceptable practice there at Retirement Acres, and I’m probably very young an naive, but I only allow the Under Two crowd to spit on me and fall into my lap.  So either you can sit here and I’ll move forward into your seat or go SIT THE FUCK DOWN!”  And then I’d add a ma’am to the end, because she is older than me and my parents always taught me to be respectful.

I swear, the old biddies mulled around like a giant group of 4 year olds at recess, demanding things and asking questions.  The flight attendant working my end of the plane had murderous intent in his eyes and a very, very tense jaw while he smiled and said “Yes, ma’am.” over and over, fetching water and coffee and pillows and blankets and “Sonny, could you just get me my spectacles from that bag up there in the cupboards?”

If I am to find the upside, and I generally try to do that, it is this:  getting home to a somewhat sullen husband, two sick kids, and the chaos of my house and life was VERY welcomed when compared with that two hour plane ride with the Geezer Globetrotters. 

And yet, oddly, I can think of no better way to spend my golden years than by doing whatever the hell I like, asking for what I want, actively traveling through the country, and not caring at all what the snot-nosed 40 year old business woman in the next row thinks about me.  After all, she’ll learn soon enough… she’s practically ready for her AARP membership card herself.