So. We are finally in Albany, New York. Five hours late. We were stuck in Newark, New Jersey waiting for the stupid pilot and crew to arrive from Providence, Rhode Island. Apparently they had to fly to Scotland and back first.
You see, while it is bone dry back in Houston, things up north are rather soggy. And by rather soggy, I mean ATTENTION TRAVELERS, THUNDER STORMS AND FLOOD WARNING IN EFFECT, DOOM IMMINENT, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES.
And for an added bonus, we were surrounded by obnoxious, ill-mannered children. On the first flight a mother was attempting to travel with her four children, ranging in ages from two to 11. These were not just "children" though. They were like water-soaked, jet-lagged gremlins. They fought with the flight attendants, with the seats, with each other and even with themselves. The mother -- who I started off hating, but came to pity -- had just flown internationally with this brood. And while I don't condone child abuse, let's just say that if she were Andrea Yates, I would have ran the bathwater for her.
Go ahead, send your hate mail. That was a bit too far.
On the second flight, the quantity of annoy children was much less, but the quality somehow increased. A seven-year-old boy sitting directly in front of us stuffed his face with candy the entire one-hour flight from Newark into Albany. No surprise that the little bastard got sick when the extremely turbulent landing. Now, in all my years of flying I can honestly tell you that I have never seen anyone use an airline issued barf bag. That streak, dear readers, ended at about 10:06 p.m. eastern standard time.
This little kid blew chunks so violently that I'm pretty sure he's still looking for his testicles. He puked like a grown man after beer chugging/hot dog eating contest. That tsunami in Indonesia was started with this kid's yacking. No shit. (Side note, the kid was traveling with his stepfather, mom and little sister and the stepdad was totally about to lose his shit dealing with this kid. When they exited the plane he turned to me and said, "I can't wait to hand him back to his father." Ouch.)
By 11:30 we made it to the hotel, checked in, ordered a pizza and showered. Sweet beautiful cleanliness! Had to scrub all that odor de child off of me. After I showered, I stepped across the hall to grab some ice. That's when I heard, in a cracked pre-teen voice, the following words:
"Hey baby, can I has yo number?"
I whirled around.
"What did you say?" I demanded.
"Nothing. I didn't say nothing, ma'am."
MA'AM? This little fucker just called me ma'am!
"Hey, I'm older than you but I'm not old and I'm not deaf..."
(At this point, the group of five or six 12 and 13 year olds are backing down the hall away from me. I keep going toward them and two room doors open, as angry people poke their heads out. Apparently these kids had been reaking havok for some time.)
"We didn't say nothing!" the child screamed at me.
And then I totally lost it. I flash ed back to the previous weekend and my night stalking the Doorbell Bandit. I will be damned if that happens again. I shall not be harrassed by someone who's balls haven't dropped. It was at this moment, remembering the previous incident that I realized the only way to get rid of this problem was to speak a language they understood: FEAR.
So I said the first thing that came to me:
MY HUSBAND -- THAT MAN YOU JUST SAW GO INTO THAT ROOM -- IS A COP. DO YOU KNOW WHAT COPS DO TO PEOPLE LIKE YOU? DO YOU WANT TO BE ARRESTED? DO YOU WANT HIM AND HIS BADGE TO GET YOUR PARENTS UP?
A unison of replies: "No..."
"Then I suggest you find somewhere else to hang out. Do you understand me?"
All together again: "Yes..."
"And no. You cannot have my number."
What a bunch of prepubescent dumbasses. My husband's not a cop. You don't get shot for disturbing Hilten Garden Inn guests. Next time I'm in Corpus Christi I'm looking Officer Rodriguez up and thanking him for that little lesson. If you can't reason with them, teach them mannors or kick them out, then just scare the piss out of them. You have to know your enemy before you can eliminate it.
And now, I sleep. For tomorrow is Cooperstown!
You see, while it is bone dry back in Houston, things up north are rather soggy. And by rather soggy, I mean ATTENTION TRAVELERS, THUNDER STORMS AND FLOOD WARNING IN EFFECT, DOOM IMMINENT, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES.
And for an added bonus, we were surrounded by obnoxious, ill-mannered children. On the first flight a mother was attempting to travel with her four children, ranging in ages from two to 11. These were not just "children" though. They were like water-soaked, jet-lagged gremlins. They fought with the flight attendants, with the seats, with each other and even with themselves. The mother -- who I started off hating, but came to pity -- had just flown internationally with this brood. And while I don't condone child abuse, let's just say that if she were Andrea Yates, I would have ran the bathwater for her.
Go ahead, send your hate mail. That was a bit too far.
On the second flight, the quantity of annoy children was much less, but the quality somehow increased. A seven-year-old boy sitting directly in front of us stuffed his face with candy the entire one-hour flight from Newark into Albany. No surprise that the little bastard got sick when the extremely turbulent landing. Now, in all my years of flying I can honestly tell you that I have never seen anyone use an airline issued barf bag. That streak, dear readers, ended at about 10:06 p.m. eastern standard time.
This little kid blew chunks so violently that I'm pretty sure he's still looking for his testicles. He puked like a grown man after beer chugging/hot dog eating contest. That tsunami in Indonesia was started with this kid's yacking. No shit. (Side note, the kid was traveling with his stepfather, mom and little sister and the stepdad was totally about to lose his shit dealing with this kid. When they exited the plane he turned to me and said, "I can't wait to hand him back to his father." Ouch.)
By 11:30 we made it to the hotel, checked in, ordered a pizza and showered. Sweet beautiful cleanliness! Had to scrub all that odor de child off of me. After I showered, I stepped across the hall to grab some ice. That's when I heard, in a cracked pre-teen voice, the following words:
"Hey baby, can I has yo number?"
I whirled around.
"What did you say?" I demanded.
"Nothing. I didn't say nothing, ma'am."
MA'AM? This little fucker just called me ma'am!
"Hey, I'm older than you but I'm not old and I'm not deaf..."
(At this point, the group of five or six 12 and 13 year olds are backing down the hall away from me. I keep going toward them and two room doors open, as angry people poke their heads out. Apparently these kids had been reaking havok for some time.)
"We didn't say nothing!" the child screamed at me.
And then I totally lost it. I flash ed back to the previous weekend and my night stalking the Doorbell Bandit. I will be damned if that happens again. I shall not be harrassed by someone who's balls haven't dropped. It was at this moment, remembering the previous incident that I realized the only way to get rid of this problem was to speak a language they understood: FEAR.
So I said the first thing that came to me:
MY HUSBAND -- THAT MAN YOU JUST SAW GO INTO THAT ROOM -- IS A COP. DO YOU KNOW WHAT COPS DO TO PEOPLE LIKE YOU? DO YOU WANT TO BE ARRESTED? DO YOU WANT HIM AND HIS BADGE TO GET YOUR PARENTS UP?
A unison of replies: "No..."
"Then I suggest you find somewhere else to hang out. Do you understand me?"
All together again: "Yes..."
"And no. You cannot have my number."
What a bunch of prepubescent dumbasses. My husband's not a cop. You don't get shot for disturbing Hilten Garden Inn guests. Next time I'm in Corpus Christi I'm looking Officer Rodriguez up and thanking him for that little lesson. If you can't reason with them, teach them mannors or kick them out, then just scare the piss out of them. You have to know your enemy before you can eliminate it.
And now, I sleep. For tomorrow is Cooperstown!
3 comments:
Ever notice how the "breeders" seldom know what to do with the products of all that wild sex? They have 'em then inflict the little bastards on the rest of us. After teaching school for 30 yrs I can say I hate most kids!!!!
If I didn't know you extremely well, I would think you just hate kids! Luckily, Madgette and I know that you really don't, and that you actually love certain kids!
i have puked in an airplane barfbag...every freakin time we took off and every freakin time I landed on one particular trip that had 2 landings and 2 take offs...from then on I fly only after dramamine!!! I'm afraid we are going to be the hated family on a plane next christmas to Washington with our crew. Chris' baby will be abt 15 mo old then, a 6 yr old, a 5 yr old, 2 yr old and a 13 yr old..but we will have enought adults for one per child...oh I pitty those people on that plane w us!
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