Business Class Gives Me The Business Every Time

I won’t horrify my family with the preceding conversation to this statement, but it’s hilarious on its own:

Me (to Husband): Thank you so much for ruining this tender moment with the use of the word ‘splooged’.*

*(MOM- DO NOT ask my sisters what “splooged” means. You don’t want to know. Trust me. Do you remember the “what’s double penetration?” and “what’s a fluffer?” conversations? I do. So does my therapist.)

In other more family-friendly news, WORK SUCKS IT FOR CRACK ON A STREET CORNER! Oh shit… sorry, not so family friendly. Um… what I meant was…. WORK HAS BEEN QUITE CHALLENGING AND I’M QUITE FRAZZLED!

Riiiighhhht…. ‘cause that felt just as good. NOT. I return to my original assessment.

Yeah, I’m about to embark on a four state tour in which I will attempt to teach professional writing to a group of people that’s about 50% prima donnas who believe themselves capable of writing polished Supreme Court opinions in one draft. (The other 50% are great!) Truth be told, most of the prima donnas wouldn’t have earned better than a B- in my freshman comp class, but they’re very touchy sorts. I am going to get eaten for lunch. And that’s fine. I’ll just drink awfully heavily on the plane back home.

Traveling for business is always interesting for me. It’s a guarantee that a few things will happen:
1. I will get selected for more stringent security screening. There is something about a 5’2” blonde woman in professional attire that screams Al-Qaeda bomber. I should note that on my last trip, I got pulled for the extra special security screening. This was shortly after they banned all gels, liquids, etc. on aircraft. Guess that big ol’ bag of makeup just didn’t count ‘cause that sucker went right onto the plane with me. But hey, I got to go through the residue-detecting machine and they made damn sure that was powder on my face and not the activating agent for biological weapon I had cleverly concealed as my lip gloss.

2. A random traveling business guy about 20-25 years older than me will attempt to strike up a “friendly” conversation. On the plane, waiting at the gate, sitting in the airport bar. I have nothing against friendly conversation, per se, but I have learned that these men are usually looking for more than just a pleasant chat with another human enduring the woes of business travel. It’s best to pretend you’re deaf or a lesbian or that you do not speak a word of English. (Deaf is most effective. And makes them look like an ass when they start shouting. At a supposedly deaf person. Nice.)

3. My flight will board on time and give all appearances of being on schedule. I will stow my approved carry-on in the overhead without incident and settle in with my brainless reading material. Smiling flight attendants will welcome me on board Lying Bastards Flight 666 to NO WHERE BUT THE DAMN TAXIWAY. They will demonstrate the seat-belt and dutifully point their index/middle finger combo at the exits. And then we will sit. We will taxi out a very short distance and SIT in the hellish limbo that is a plane not yet in flight. Without air conditioning or beverage service, we will cling with naive hope to the radio-announcer-smooth voice of Captain Assface assuring us that we should be in the air “very shortly.” (This is about the time that the toddler three rows in front of me will weary of being contained and begin a full scale meltdown.)

The good news about this trip is that I can now legally carry a quart-sized bag with 3 oz. containers of liquid or gel in it. Even better news is that I am completely confident the ace- minded security screeners will not be able to discern clarifying shampoo from vodka.