Climbed on a passenger jet the other day, which is what you do for penance after a week in the sun.
The ordeal was pretty much as anticipated. The pleasant woman in the next seat smiled and introduced herself by saying “I have bronchitis” (I’m not making this up), while the children seated behind me behaved exactly as any preschooler trapped in place for five hours would be expected to behave.
The flight itself was as turbulent as a Sean Spicer news conference. Every now and then a carry-on bag the size of a small East German automobile would tumble out of an overhead bin and brain someone into unconsciousness, making other passengers envious.
For those who didn’t download their own entertainment, the in-flight movie was a documentary (Pulp Friction: The Crofton Mill Strike of 1970), though it’s impossible to say whether it was as fascinating as it sounds, as the picture quality was reminiscent of that of the first moon landing, breaking up worse than Brad and Angelina.
Likewise, the audio system featured a selection of music channels with names like Easy Listening Favourites and Lite Country Classics, though only two — Medication Time and Stranded Elevator Purgatory — sounded like anything other than a man being murdered by chainsaw at the bottom of a deep, deep well.
More here:
http://www.timescolonist.com/news/local/jack-knox-after-a-week-in-the-sun-the-flight-from-hell-1.9824654
