Thoughts on a Plane

(I realize the picture has nothing to with a plane. It also has nothing to do with any thoughts on a plane. I know that. But, I didn’t take any pictures on this flight. I want all pictures to be original (mine/yours), so I’m not going to substitute a generic picture of aviation. Instead, I chose a picture where I look very attractive.)

Thoughts on a Plane

First, a couple things need to be said:

One, sharing your personal thoughts on the internet is typically weird. I know this. I usually make fun of those that do it. But, I had a two servings of a 20 oz chilled IPA at the airport bar adjacent my gate, right before the flight, and I’m buzzed. The flight attendant is also a soft 7—at 35,000 feet she becomes a 9—and I get the vibe she digs writers.

Two: I like to write. It is fun for me. Typically, people laugh when I do, which is why I do it. It is also generally just a nice therapeutic release. It is cathartic, too: writing about thoughts and people that bother me, just finger blasting the keyboard like it stole something. Also, recognizing what surrounds you, what you see and feel and taste, and writing about it, is an essence of mindfulness. Mindfulness is good. It is healthy, and one of those things where just writing it or saying it out loud a lot can open doors and pants. That’s good.

Three: People watching is fun. This is a four hour flight.

Four: Flight attendant just gave me an extra bag of peanuts. I winked at her.

…

I’m scanning the plane right now. I’m awake, alert, and drunk. This is a good time for ethnic and physical profiling.

The guy in the row across from me is fat. He looks normal white guy race, probably of Polish ancestry. His head is leaned against the window and he is asleep. He could be faking it and plotting a dash to the front of the plane—but I don’t think so. I don’t think he is a real threat to any ones safety because of physical limitations and aisle-width-deterrent.

In front of him, with a row to herself, because of the minimal passengers, is a suspicious looking elder woman. I’m not sure why she incites suspicion. But she does. I also wonder what she looked like when she was younger. She has terrible skin now, and her ears are huge. But maybe that wasn’t always the case. She also makes me contemplate why it is that men can stay attractive as they age, where women become uglier at an exponential clip. Why is that? Did guys like George Clooney set that cultural perception? What’s wrong with older woman? What’s the oldest lady I’ve been with? Is my ex-girlfriend really serious about the restraining order? Is anyone listening to me?

Perusing forward in front of the ugly old woman, taking no note of potential bombers, I notice a lot of headphones. I just counted six pairs of Beats by Dre. I’ve never listened to sound—musical or pornographic—through those subset of headphones before. I’m not sure what distinguishes them. What makes them so ubiquitous? Is their quality that much better than their competition? Or is it result of terrific branding and the influence Dr. Dre? I saw the film, “Straight out of Compton”, which was fantastic, so that would make sense. The fact that that movie received no honor or recognition at last year’s Oscars is a topic for another plane ride.

The flight attendant passed by again. She didn’t say anything to me. She didn’t have to. She wants it.

The pilot just made some nice remarks about Washington D.C.—our destination—and everyone seemed to really get on board with his warm tone and audible disposition. Some people just have an innate ability to make others feel better, either through their presence or their voice. I hope I have that quality. I think I do. People seem to like me because I’m polite and I’m rarely late.

I just ordered another red wine. My good friend Jared gave me some free drink coupons, valid on any Southwest Airlines flight through November of 2017. His girlfriend works for the airline, in a marketing capacity, and she provided him with several free coupons. He knows I like free stuff, so he gave me a generous quantity of coupons. That was nice, and it makes me appreciate friendship. I wonder if I could become close friends with anyone on this flight? Is there anyone on here who enjoys the same things I do, namely: Gonzaga basketball, historical fiction, films from Woody Allen, Tinder, Rebecca Romain Stamos? There are other things we could talk about, obviously, if I did find a friend on this plane that would want to be friends, but those would definitely be subject matter discussed first. The guy across from me is still asleep. We wouldn’t be friends. He’s fat.

The terrain below looks nice. It’s a sunny day and the sun is now setting. I’ve always loved looking out the window from planes. Vantage points are cool. You can see things from different angles, deriving alternate pleasures. Usually when I go to bars I stand close to the women’s restrooms and see if I’m able to discern whether they went number one or number two when they walk out.

A lot of people on this flight are reading on Kindles. It seems the hard copy, which exudes the book scent I love, may be dying. I will always stay true and keep reading from actual books, but I worry about a lot of other people, especially my friends. But I plan on keeping and growing a book collection for the rest of my life. I will let my friends borrow books from me, so they will be actually be ok. Jared, my good friend mentioned earlier, can borrow his first book for free, because he gave me these airline drink vouchers, and I’m not one to forget acts of kindness.

We are descending now. The flight went by fairly quick. The guy across from me is still asleep. I hope he doesn’t wake up when he lands. I wouldn’t wake him, either. The same way he disregards his personal health and physical appearance is the same way I would disregard him and walk by as I exit the plane, just hoping he wakes up in a panic and has to rush to his connecting flight, being forced into exercise and exertion against his will. That’s tough love.

This was a good flight. The flight attendant never reciprocated my aggressive stares and insinuative eye rolls towards the lavatory. Whatever, we are descending, she’s getting uglier.