AN OPEN LETTER TO THAT GUY AT THE AIRPORT:
‘You’ve got your hands full there, eh buddy?’, exclaimed yet another older dude in work slacks and loafers, traveling with only a laptop bag. I nodded with a forced smile and said, ‘So true dude, so true.’
What I really wanted to do was throttle him to the floor by the shirt and say ‘fuck you old man, just because your tour is over, doesn’t mean you have a free ticket (or does it?) to bust my balls at the baggage carousel.’
Can’t you see what I’m dealing with here? Four checked suitcases, two carry-ons, two personal items, a dog in a duffle bag, a Bjorn, two strollers, a toddler, an infant and a cooler of leaking breastmilk. Do I look like I wanna get chatty?
You had no idea that I was about to try and hang onto a 2-year old who would be stepping on my balls for 6 hours with some woman behind me that didn’t speak English, telling me in hand signals and charades that I wasn’t allowed to recline my seat because it bothered her.
‘Got your hands full there, buddy?’, he asks…
Unless you wanna huck one of these suitcases through the terminal for me, take your tablet and go sit down and shut up in 1st class, with your cranberry juice and Wall Street Journal.
I’ll see you when zone 6 is called. I’ll be the guy fighting and banging my way through your section with the armada of duffle bags and kids, apologizing every three steps, as I move towards the back of the plane.
Look. I’m not bitter. About him or my situation. I’m truly not.
This numb-nut was just the EXACT opposite of what I needed at that particular moment. Had he been some dude walking up to offer me a Smart Cart or hook me up with a Xanax or Benadryl for my entourage, we wouldn’t even be wasting our time reading this right now. Because I would’ve never written it!
Thanks for flying the friendly skies.
EDITOR’S NOTE: If you have the luxury, buy your kid a seat and let the DVD player do the rest.