The whole flying process is a goddamn drag. After checking bags, waiting in line to get a frisk down and a crotch grab, and waiting for your zone to board, when you finally take your seat, you feel like you should be at your destination already.
Also, every time I’m about to put my carry on bags through the X-ray machine, I convince myself that I’m a terrorist and get nervous as fuck. I start to think about that dime bag I put in the front pouch of my backpack in 2002 and if I smoked it all or if there are still residual nugs at the bottom of my bag. I start to run through which of my friends would be cruel enough to plant a gun in my backpack in some deranged prank. Regardless, I cover my eyes during most horror movies, but everytime I make it through security unscathed, I’m relieved I’m not a terrorist.
But that relief is short-lived when I sit my ass down in the middle seat next to two plump old-timers. EVERY. TIME. I’ve been on at least 50 flights in my lifetime and just once I’d like to get a handjob from a smoking hot model after we flirtatiously fight over the arm rest. Don’t think that’s too much to ask of the world.
And then to have the pilot make an announcement that we’d be chilling on the runway for several hours due to bad weather would be the death of what’s left of my withering soul. Unless, PIZZA!
And that’s exactly what a Delta Airlines pilot provided passengers on the 2 pm flight from Philly to Atlanta. Boxes on boxes of Pizza Hut pizza.
— Riley Vasquez (@RileyVasquez) May 26, 2015
— Bill Wittenmyer (@BillyTheKidWitt) May 26, 2015
The flight eventually landed in Atlanta shortly after 7pm, three hours later than scheduled, but no one really cared at that point. Ah, the power of the pie.