I made it to Rochester- not in the "without a hitch" sense of the word, but I'm here, I'm watching The Golden Girls, and typing this all on the new laptop my parents were lovely enough to get me for Christmas.
Getting there was bad enough, and quite a bit like the last act of The Graduate. I took a cab thinking it would be faster- it wasn't. Traffic was so bad that I had to have the cabbie drop me off at the train station, and then I had to run all the way to the gate (except for the minute or so I stood behind that stupid family on the moving sidewalk thingy. If any of you are reading this, I think you suck at life) because I was so horribly late, and made it exactly on time and completely out of breath. I should probably quit smoking but I won't.
BUT... let me tell you about the guy I sat next to on the plane. I can tell you a lot, because he didn't shut up for the entire ride. First of all, he smelled like beer and Old Spice, and had his hair in an altogether new version of a combover, in which all the hair was pulled forward into bangs. He made prosthetic legs, and although he was Canadian, he worked in the States because the business for such things is bigger here. I am not sure why, I didn't ask. He told me that people were awfully vain about their prosthetic legs, and especially picky about them being symmetrical with their other leg, should they have one.
He did not think I needed to apply lipgloss to impress him, despite the fact that I was doing it because, ya know, my lips were dry. Because I just ran a marathon to get there and all.
He was on his second marriage to a mail order bride. Mail order brides, he said, were the way to go. Because, you see, an "attractive young girl" like myself would not look twice at a man like him here in this country, but in the third world, he had pick of the litter- and also they were more old fashioned, which he liked (ie: They don't have like, opinions and stuff). And he was right about that, because he was gross and he smelled weird and he was at least 50. Oh, and he was totally wearing a Starter jacket, which I have not seen since I was in middle school.
Oh, and then he ordered a beer. And he asked me if he could borrow a dollar for it. I said I didn't have one, so he paid for part of it in dimes.
Then the plane went into turbulence, really awful, "I think this might be the end- I'd faint except I have to stay conscious in case those oxygen masks pop down from the ceiling and I have to put one on" turbulence. It was a bad time altogether. And while I'm whiteknuckled and gripping the armrests, he's yelling "Wooooweeee! It's like a rollercoaster! Woooo! This is kinda fun! If you think this is bad, you should have been on this plane with me to Reno- now that was turbulence! This is just fun!"
And then the plane landed. And he continued talking. "If I'da known you had a problem with planes I'da tried to keep your mind off of it by talking to you"
Yup. I never really thought I'd top the guy who tried to feel me up on the plane and offered to be my sugar daddy, as his wife was suffering from cancer and was too tired to do him. But I did. And at least I got a limo ride home from that deal. Oy.
And that's my story. I told you I have no luck with planes.