Tucson Tales, Part I

(Well, I should probably get started on boring everyone with my trip to Arizona. Some of the anecdotes will have to wait until I get the appropriate photos downloaded to the computer, but this one can start us off.)

The missus bought our tickets through America West Airlines. Whatever she did, I did not want to fly with U.S. Air. I despise that company after many bad experiences. About a week or two before the trip, we found out that those rat bastards at Useless Air bought out America West. Swell.

We got to Philly International at 7am for a 10:15 flight. I heard horror stories about the security checks, so I wanted us to be as early as possible. We came to the checkpoint and surprisingly, everyone was very friendly. The only time anyone spoke was when one TSA member said that it may be better if the wife and I took off our shoes before going through the metal detector. (The kids had their open-toed sandals on - because you want to smell feet in a small, enclosed space.) We did, and passed with flying colors. Very punny.

The great thing about kids is that they let you board first with the snobs in First Class. I wanted to be one of those snobs, but the wife nixed that idea right away. "Too much money," my arse! Kyle and I had the two seats nearest the aisle, the wife and Erik were across from us. Our window seat was open. Kyle wanted the window desperately, but I told him that someone paid for it.

That someone was a vapid, blonde, tattooed bimbo from California.

This broad was "dressed" in a sleazy tank top and short shorts. It looked like she would be the in-flight entertainment. Normally, I wouldn't mind, but my frakkin' kids were there! She looks at me, then Kyle, rolls her eyes, and says, "Um, could you guys slide over? I don't really like the window seat."

Then, why the hell did you pay for the window seat, jerkass?!

Kyle's eyes lit up, and I cringed. I said to the broad, "My son is five, and it's a four-hour trip. He'll probably get up to use the bathroom a dozen times." She said that was okay, so I relented. We were in the air for about an hour when it happens: "Dad, I have to go to the bathroom." Here we go.

When I told the broad that Kyle had to go, she sighed loudly and said, "Okay." We shuffled out of the seats and went to the rear of the plane. The bathroom was in the front, but Kyle tinkled in the beverage cart. Kidding. When we returned, she gave us another dirty look, and let us back into our seats.

About an hour later, Kyle said, "Dad, I have to go to the bathroom." I told the bimbo and she looked at me and gave me a muffled, "Whew!" Resisting the urge to murder her, I took Kyle to the back again. We came back and she rolled her eyes as we returned to our seats.

Look, I know when some people see a kid on a plane, they fear the worst. For the record, Kyle hardly made a sound, and watched Star Wars DVD's with me for most of the flight. When you're five, your bladder is smaller than that of some blow-dried, hippie whore.

Right about now, her body is buried at the foot of the Catalina Mountains.