Sky Rage (Still on Horse Drawing Hiatus)

My two most notable characteristics are as follows:

1. I want to do what I want whenever I feel like it
2. I can't handle when someone is physically in my way when I'm trying to walk (kinda the same as the first but whatever)

Naturally airplane travel is a freaking nightmare for me because it's all about the opposite of those things. I flew to Jackson Hole yesterday and wrote the following 3 entries to cope with my sky rage.

1. My Thoughts Regarding Delta:
Flying on delta is like the sky Oregon Trail. It’s rugged, everyone is dying from typhoid fever, and there are no bison because they’ve been over hunted. Also, the peanuts seem to be over-salted and the flight attendant (Stacy) doesn’t give a shit even if you tell her 12 times. Fucking exploratory travel missions. I can see why so many settlers died.

2. Moments in Time While Sitting In Front of an Idiot Kid:
Time=8:21: Conditions are poor. This kid behind me is talking about t-rexes non-stop. He keeps saying t-rex. He never uses a pronoun. Every sentence ends in t-rex and he lilts that word every time. Every single one of his completely uniformed and myopic t-rex statements is falsely presented as a question.

Time=8:27: Now the kid is telling his mom the Shrek 2 storyline. She is a kind listener. My response would have been. Please come back when hearing your idiotic and repeated recollection of the most forgettable details of a movie I loathe doesn’t make me what to kick my face off.

Time=8:34: He is talking about t-rex again. Then he said “I have a story!” and told a knock-knock joke that made no sense.

Time= 8:40: He yelled I-phone like 8 times at maximum volume.

3. Dear Pilot, Please Crash This Plane:
If you want a magnified view of the low-lights of the human experience consider airplane travel. I hate it. Flying actually makes me indifferent to the possibility of crashing. If I’m ever on a jury for a murder trial, I’ll be like “Hey, Judge Helen.” She’d be like “Hey, Rachel. What’s up?” I’d say, “When are we going to get some more pretzels? I’m starving my face off.” She’d flash a tolerant smile and ask if I had a question pertinent to the matter at hand specifically the Fred Bigsby’s murder trial. I’d say “Oh yeah, did he fly right before the murders?” Judge Helen would ask an aide to look through the evidence locker for a ticket stub while the rest of us sat quietly. Esther Cummings, the elderly juror next to me, would be twiddling her thumbs and smiling faintly as she stared off into the distance. I’d assume she was thinking about old timey lollipops, but in actuality she’d be thinking about Gordy Gurderson, her high school sweetheart. She missed him dearly. He had a big game against top seeded Mather High School coming up and she wanted to wish him luck. Suddenly, the courtroom aide would charge through the over-sized mahogany courtroom door. Short of breath, the aide would reveal that he discovered Fred Bigsby had flown the day before he murdered 12 people. Everyone would gasp. Being crammed into an airplane and witnessing the human race at their slowest, loudest, and most aggravating-est is a soul-shattering experience, one that logically ends in mass murder. The Babies R Us store murderer would be cleared of all charges!