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  • Writer's pictureEdie Montreux

Get Out of My Way

Yesterday was my last flight home after two weeks commuting to work by plane. Don’t even get me started about frugal business techniques and saving company money. That is another blog for another time, when I’m self-employed.

Unlike my other flights, I traveled alone this time. My boss’s flight was much later in the day. I have no problem traveling alone. I have a problem with other people when I travel alone.

First of all, I probably made a mistake when I wore my HRC shirt, but fuck it. I was bored and I wanted to see people react to it. People on the whole don’t read shirts, but I got some nasty looks, and a couple of girls checking me out, which was cute, but not the point.

So something unusual happened when they scanned my bags. My computer didn’t make it through security, unlike every other time. It’s an ancient Lenovo. I told them they could go ahead and ship it back to my company when they were done with it because I didn’t want it…the TSA guy didn’t laugh. Sadly, he gave it back to me.

The flight to Chicago was easy. No problems boarding. No problems with passengers. Everyone arriving in Chicago had somewhere else to go. No hard words, no hard feelings.

The motherfuckers flying home to Des Moines were horrible people. Well, at least the teenagers behind me. They had something to say about every fucking person who got on, and they were not nice about it. 

For me: 

 Boy: *giggle as I hit my head trying to get to the window seat* “What is she?”

Girl: “She probably heard you. She’s right there.” (as I take the seat right in front of her.)

Boy: “Sorry, Ma’am. It’s been a long flight.”

Me: “No problem.” *In my head: “FUCK YOU.”*

Look, these are probably great kids that I met at the wrong moment. Story of my life. I made two students burst into angry tears within my first two days of teaching because of a misunderstanding. I’m not about to admit that I understand kids today. 

What I do know: there are better things for kids to do with their time nowadays than laugh at how people look after a day of travel. For example: Listen to music. Play video games. Read a book. Same shit, different decade. I couldn’t imagine taking a gaming console on an airplane when I was that age. Now, kids can download games on their phones. 


The world will never know.

It’s a forty-five minute flight from Chicago to Des Moines. Thank fucking god. Southwest packs their planes so full of people that you have no choice but to share elbow room with people who don’t know how to set an alarm to pre-board. I listened to Mika and read Matt McCoy‘s book, McCoy, You’re Going Straight to Hell, trying so hard to ignore everyone around me. 

Finally, it was time to disembark. The girl next to me seemed really comfortable, so I asked her if she was going to Las Vegas, the next stop for our plane. No, she was also getting off in Des Moines. She was with the assholes sitting behind me.

Annoying fact about Iowa that I haven’t noticed in other parts of the country: people like to gather in the most obnoxious spot possible. The entrance to Walmart is always packed with a herd of idiots who do not know where the fuck they’re going. They gather like a pack of zombies in the middle of the produce aisle at Hy-Vee as though searching for brains among the cabbage, talking to old friends. “Is that a good one, Alice?” / “I don’t know. Bob? What do you think?”

Same thing at the airport. A clump of about ten people stood at the corner, blocking progress toward baggage claim and the outside world. They were probably A 1-15 pre-boarders who get to board before everyone else, waiting to go to Vegas. Well, A 1-15, get the fuck out of my way. I’ve had my personal space cramped for far too long and I want out of this fucking airport. Now.

I was so pissed off at the idiots milling near the gate that I think I passed the rest of the passengers on our plane. I walked down the escalator in heels, which was a near disaster. (Seriously. I walked down the escalator. It was empty, and I was in a hurry.) I ran to Lemur, hugged him, and begged him to get me the fuck out of there.

He took me to Perkins for pie. I love my Lemur.

If you’re ever at the Des Moines airport and see someone running in heels, yeah, that’s probably me. Don’t stop me or I will body-check you with my carry-on.

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