“What the heck is up with this seat!?!” It’s pretty clear that airplanes are not designed for people, let alone a 6 ft 2 inch Mexican Jedi. Oh sure, there’s First Class, Business Class, Coach Class and Broke Folks Class. Now because I qualify for the “broke folks” section of the plane, I find meselfs sitting in a space that’s literally 2 feet by 2 feet. Ouch. Oh lady, please don’t recline- I beg you.  And the fact that they dub it “class” is somehow a smack in the face to society and their level of edjoomukation – think about it:

First Class – yeah, back in school you were head of the class; Business Class – well, you simply handled your business in school to maintain average grades and get a blue ribbon at graduation; Coach Class – you convinced yourself that “D’s” were passing and you gladly took the hit; Broke Folks Class – do the initials G.E.D. mean anything? I’m telling you  – Airlines is the Devil.

Think, too, of some of the names of Airlines themselves and the messages their sending right under our noses  – AA (American Airlines) – would you feel comfortable drinking on that flight?; Delta – what did that stand for back in the day “Don’t Ever Leave The Airport”; Continental – free breakfast at hotels; United – if we can fly, we can do anything; AirIran – really? Uh, did anybody watch Lost? I’m telling you, folks, it’s all subliminal. Oh, and recall my rant about feeling the gouge at the airport – well, planes are no different. $7 bucks for 6 ounces of beer – uh, let me think about that – Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Well, do I have any bright ideas or just wasted complaints? Bowf.

First, lose the whole “class” gentrification nonsense (wow, big word, no idea what it means but it sure sounds good) – if you want to stretch out your legs and eat tasty goodies, then cough up the cash; if you’re broke, shoot, we won’t hold it against you, your seat will automatically be 4 by 4 feet – and the beer will be a buck a pop – happy hour, every hour on my airlines! As for the food – fast, homie – you’ll be better off for it, fo’ sho’. Plus, we’d just complain about it anyway.

Wow, I just happened to look up and notice the old man standing in line for the baffroom and he has a whole stack of newspapers in hand – WELCOME TO THE BROKE FOLKS CLASS – matches not included.

Missed Calling

March 17, 2011

“GOOD LAWD!” That’s all that came to mind as I gazed at my bill from the Mexican food side shop at LAX for an order of chicken nachos and two beers – the beers alone were $10 bucks a pop. I knew I should’ve eaten more at home before leaving. (Dang, that just reminded me of the chicken I left in the fridge that will now smell tangy when I get back.) (Uh, how long does pizza stay edible?)

Never, my friends, yes NEVER eat at the airport unless you’re ready to drop some vacation cash without even leaving the state you live in! So sad. And the crazy thing is the airport is full of places like that – you know, places that sell things you don’t need but figure somehow that you do need them because you’re going on vacation and it would be so awesome to have these needless things because you have so much room in that backpack that already weighs like a thousand pounds! (Sigh.)

Oh look, StarChucks! How about getting a feel-good coffee for $30 bucks! Wait, don’t pass up the book store, you know you’ve been dying to read a novel that’s oh, let say hundreds of pages long full of five dollar words you don’t even  understand, let alone know how to pronounce! AS IF! Yep, tack on another $20 bucks and you’ve yet to set foot on a plane.

Oh yes, someone IS complaining here. I shake my head in disappointment in self – why couldn’t I get my foot in the door, so to speak, and sell you things you don’t need while coasting around waiting to board your flight to freedom? Perhaps a shop that sells “must have” Dodger player bobble-heads, key chains that scream “I (heart) Venice Beach!”, or simply a store that sells Mexican candies and Luchadore Wrestling Masks? I would vow to keep my prices low – in fact, instead of the .99 cent store, I’d call it the $9.99 cent store- and you’d still come out a winner!

Yes, another missed calling.

Well, another morning, another cup of coffee. It must be purely psychologimical to start your day off by dropping a hand full of cash for two cups of coffee and a day-old bagel (oh, you thought those were fresh?!?). So off we go, my wife and I, to StarChuck’s, oops, I mean Starbucks, which is really a hop, skip, and a jump away – aren’t they all? We decide to go to one that we thought would be not-so-busy but ended up being oh-so-busy! The only good thing – yes, only – about going out for coffee is the simplicity it offers to people watch. I’m sure people are watching me, too, since I tower over my wife like Paul Bunyan and apparently dress like him, too – green plaid flannel, khaki cargo pants and a pair of well-weathered Timberlands – oh dang! Sadly, along with my version of “people watching” includes vocal banter. What’s the old saying “if you don’t have nothing nice to say – uh, say it?!?” Although, this morning I had nothing mean to say, really. Anywho, as my wife waits for her ‘specialty’ coffee, I proceeded to keep myself busy by wandering around and eventually over to the area that I dubbed the “observation deck”. It’s a level that puts you above the entire place and you can peer out and watch all the goings-on of society. Well, joining me is this man, whom I have no idea is, and as he looked in the opposite direction and then back at me I guess he was expecting to see his lady friend. Surprise, homie!!

Conversation:

StarChuck Homie: –silent—

Boris (me): “What’s up!?!”

StarChuck Homie: “Uh, hello?”

Boris: “So how do you like the view from the observation deck?”

StarChuck Homie: “Uh, yeah, good one, it does look like that.” (not sounding convincing)

Uncomfortable silence then sets in – well, only for a moment, because I can’t keep quiet!

Boris in vocal rhetorical as he looks around: “Hmmm, I wonder if they’re all automatons?”

Silence ends the conversation.

Apparently the coffee has yet to set in for StarChuck Homie. Hey, Boris thought it was funny. Dah.