I hate to do it, I really do, but I’m going to lead this post off with a famous quote from Samuel L. Jackson, “I’m tired of muthafuckin strangers talking to me, on this muthafuckin plane!”
Granted, I took a little liberty in replacing the word ‘snakes’ with ‘strangers,” but more or less blatant plagarism is a crappy way to start off my first post in quite a long time. But you have to understand two things – 1. 17 nights in Paris averaging 5 hours of sleep and 5 glasses of wine has pretty much left me devoid of all creative thought and 2. that quote sums up my thoughts on travel perfectly!
I should say that I understand why people want to chat on a plane to the total stranger sitting in the next seat, especially on a long flight. Sometimes the movies showing suck, and most people are not smart enough to read a book. So yeah, pass some time by making conversation about absolutely nothing. But to the guy sitting in saet 39 G on my flight from Paris to JFK Sunday morning, I’m pretty sure I made it really fucking obvious I didn’t want to talk to you.
When someone sits next to you, with sunglasses on, headphones in, and immediately opens up reading material, guess what…striking up a conversation about how bad airplane food is probably not what your next seat neighbor had in mind when getting on the plane. On top of these hints, my one word answers (along with breath that probably wreaked of redbull-vodka) should have clued this jackass in.
But guess what, it didn’t. He kept touching me lightly on the arm to get my attention, which he was forced to do because my music was so loud I couldn’t hear him, and asking lame questions like, “what’s your favorite part about Paris?” or, “bet you can’t get croissants back home like the ones in Paris, can you?” Maybe if he had told me the best place to find a cheap prostitute next time I visit I would have been more tuned in.
There are countless more stories I could tell you about along these lines, but they are all pretty much the same so I’ll spare you. But bottom line is, unless you are a member of the opposite sex who fits the following qualifications – 1. can make intelligent conversation about things that are not only found in US Weekly 2. have decent breath 3. are not revolting to look at and 4. wouldn’t mind having some fun under the blanket, then please don’t fucking talk to me. I’m kidding about #4, it is not a requirement, but would be considered as a replacement for 1-3.