Airbus To Hell

“Sir, you’ll have to take off your shoes, too.”

The fantastically quick-witted and intelligent airport security guard took his hand from the center of my chest and looked me in the eyes to make sure I had not only heard his words, but also understood their meaning. I say he was smart only because his sloped forehead, jutting lower jaw, sparse body hair and ability to walk upright gave him away as an early Cro-Magnum and not a late period Neanderthal like his security brethren.

Also, he could speak.

As I was already standing there putting my coat, wallet, keys, cell phone, spare change, Clie, two computer notebooks, carry-on bag and belt onto the x-ray conveyer belt, I simply sighed and proceeded to remove my shoes. After placing them next to my other things on the Trundle of Total Uselessness, I stepped through the Awning of Metallic Detection and then began the tedious process of gathering up my possessions.

“Sir. I’ll have to ask you to move a little faster, there are other people behind you in line.”

I’m not quick to anger, but I could feel my blood beginning to rise. I mean, there I was, standing in a crowded airport holding my pants up with one hand and trying to put on my shoes with the other and this slow-witted rent-a-cop was trying to hurry me along? All my meager possessions were laid bare for the world to see and this mental midget was telling me I couldn’t take the two minutes I needed to essentially get dressed in front of perfect strangers and repack my precious gadgets?

Why, I was of a mind to chastise him.

However, as I was already running late I simple nodded my head and quickly herded my stuff to a convenient corner of the airport by kicking my shoes, wallet and very expensive, highly fragile electronic equipment across the dirty floor while holding up my pants with one hand and dragging my open bag behind me with the other like it was a reluctant dog.

Somewhere, Bread was laughing.

After getting dressed and repacking I hurriedly made my way to the terminal so I could make my flight down to Auschwitz, whoops! I meant, Orlando. Home of such Mecca’s of cultural significance as Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum, Mary – Queen Of The Universe, Epcot and, of course, Disney (Heil!). I made it to the plane, found my seat and got ready to read my book for the next three hours.

Unfortunately, the 3 billion brats on board had other ideas.

The sweet young girl sitting directly behind me first alerted me to my danger. Her incessant kicking of my chair was my first clue that I would not enjoy this flight. Another child, sitting a few rows in front of me, began to cry loudly as soon as we pulled away from the gate. His sister, who was herself happily screaming something that sounded a lot like,

“I’m going to see Mickey! I’ll swallow your soul! And Donald, too! I am evil. I’m the spawn of Satan! Pluto is my favorite!”

I believe her head then spun around while she vomited pea soup.

Some kids in the back began singing some vile Disney songs and then the person sitting next to me decided that the armrest wasn’t big enough for two people and he used his opposite hand to push my elbow off! That was all I thought I could take so I lowered my book and took a deep breath to tell this idiot off when I noticed something odd.

There was a child in the isle staring at me.

He was probably 6 or 7, wearing those silly baby jeans with the elastic waistband and a shirt with some cartoon character emblazoned across it like a badge of honor. He smiled up at me, because even sitting I was taller than he, and I couldn’t help but grin back. He looked so innocent, so sweet. So damn cute. He was just what I needed to calm myself down before I killed someone on the flight. I smiled at him with gratitude and said, “Hello young man. And what’s your name?”

And then the little bastard grabbed my book and ran screaming down the isle.

I frickin HATE kids.