Traffic Lights and Pink Hair
I had the delightful privilege of driving Zane to the airport in the wee hours of Monday morning. By wee hours, I mean we left the house at 3:45am, and I got back at 4:35am.
This is what I discovered on my early morning airport commute:
All this airport talk reminds me of a story. The year was 2005. I was in college flying with my family to Texas for Thanksgiving. My hair looked like this:
Back to the story.
I was on the plane and had fallen asleep during the distribution of beverages. This was most likely due to severe fatigue from hours of late night studying and paper writing, of course. When I awoke and realized I had missed getting a drink, I stopped the flight attendant and asked her for a Diet Pepsi.
Flight attendants. What have they become these days? Either rude, middle-aged, sometimes frumpy women or polite, seemingly gay men. Sorry if that comes across offensive, but that was the population of the flight attendants on this particular flight.
The rude, middle-aged female flight attendant told me it would be a little while before she could get my drink. After a while, I thought she had forgotten about me, but then she returned with a regular Pepsi.
"Oh, sorry, I asked for diet." I said with a smile.
"Oh, are you diabetic?"
"Um. No..."
"Well, we're out of diet, so you'll have to have this."
I stare blankly. "You're out of diet Pepsi? I'd be happy with a Diet Coke."
"Sorry, this is all we have."
"No, thanks."
After she went up to first class, my mom said, "There's no way this plane is out of diet. She just didn't want to walk back there to get you another one. Just wait until the seatbelt light goes off and go get one yourself."
I followed my mother's directions. When I walked to the back of the plane, I asked in my most polite voice for a diet Pepsi from a nice, male flight attendant. He seemed overjoyed to meet my request.
Yep, that lady flat out lied to me, but she made sure I wasn't diabetic first. Sleeze-Louise.
Summary: you're better off attending yourself on airplanes these days. Especially if you're a college student with pink and orange hair, wearing a little boy t-shirt and trousers. It was a phase.
This is what I discovered on my early morning airport commute:
- 36 traffic signals lie between my house and the airport
- 33 are on one 15.5 mile strip of road (including one fire station emergency signal)
- That's approximately one traffic light per half mile
All this airport talk reminds me of a story. The year was 2005. I was in college flying with my family to Texas for Thanksgiving. My hair looked like this:
When I first had it dyed, it looked like this, pink and orange, like my bedsheets:
But it quickly faded to light pink and neon yellow. Bummer.
I was on the plane and had fallen asleep during the distribution of beverages. This was most likely due to severe fatigue from hours of late night studying and paper writing, of course. When I awoke and realized I had missed getting a drink, I stopped the flight attendant and asked her for a Diet Pepsi.
Flight attendants. What have they become these days? Either rude, middle-aged, sometimes frumpy women or polite, seemingly gay men. Sorry if that comes across offensive, but that was the population of the flight attendants on this particular flight.
The rude, middle-aged female flight attendant told me it would be a little while before she could get my drink. After a while, I thought she had forgotten about me, but then she returned with a regular Pepsi.
"Oh, sorry, I asked for diet." I said with a smile.
"Oh, are you diabetic?"
"Um. No..."
"Well, we're out of diet, so you'll have to have this."
I stare blankly. "You're out of diet Pepsi? I'd be happy with a Diet Coke."
"Sorry, this is all we have."
"No, thanks."
After she went up to first class, my mom said, "There's no way this plane is out of diet. She just didn't want to walk back there to get you another one. Just wait until the seatbelt light goes off and go get one yourself."
I followed my mother's directions. When I walked to the back of the plane, I asked in my most polite voice for a diet Pepsi from a nice, male flight attendant. He seemed overjoyed to meet my request.
Yep, that lady flat out lied to me, but she made sure I wasn't diabetic first. Sleeze-Louise.
Summary: you're better off attending yourself on airplanes these days. Especially if you're a college student with pink and orange hair, wearing a little boy t-shirt and trousers. It was a phase.
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