You know what really bugs me about air travel? People who walk around the airport with those damn cell phone receivers stuck in their ears, like they’re Lt Uhura! What is it that drives these faux-important one-foot-in-the-trailor-park Alexander Graham Bells? What could be so crucial that they can’t be out of contact for a single instant? Who the fuck could possibly need to reach these incredible conglomorans that would necessitate this perpetual plugging-in? I don’t know which is worse: the sender or the receiver. The thought of either scares me more than the shadow on the shower curtain in “Psycho.”
And once we’re in the air, what’s the deal with the feverish phone fiends who are clicking on their cell phones the instant the landing gear hits the tarmac? Excuse me, but I worry enough about plane travel that I’d like to give the pilot just a few moments more of interference-free navigation. Just give him time to apply some pressure to the brakes…just allow the plane to slow down to golf cart speed…just get me to the fucking jet-way before you call granny to tell her that you’ve landed. Hell, she can she that on the fucking monitor in the airport! If she’s too old to see the monitor, you’re going to see her in a few minutes. Leave the damn phone in your purse or coat pocket and get over yourself! You’re not that fucking important!
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