I do NOT fly if I can help it. Getting locked in some shit-smelling tin can where escape is impossible and you're crammed in like sardines is repuslive enough to me that I'd rather eat the gasoline costs, the time, and the fatigue of driving if it is AT ALL possible to do while getting where I need to be. That said, I do have to fly on some occasions.
Woe befell me on one such occasion to be flying from the Midwest out to the East Coast.
I got an aisle seat. Which is fine, ok, I'll just try to gtfo asap. I get to my seat and there splay 2 lil' piggies in the center and window. I take my spot, pull up my hoodie and try to just shut everything out until civilization. Not to be, while on the ground, the boar takes out his phone and begins a speaker phone call with his piglet. Illinois accent for all to hear and enjoy, with words barked out between the smack of chewing and crunching on a bag of crisps. We get into the air, and it all gets worse from there. The trough, apparently, had been supplied from a bag by airport store chicken salad sandwiches. Little did I know how the method of torment would play out. The sow opened the sandwich, and used her fingers to pick the bits of chicken out. Of course there was then lip smacking to confirm it was feeding time. once finished, said sow then sucked the remnants from her fingers, with more accompanying lip smacking. All the while she and the boar oink their way through unbelievably mundane shit. This went on for 3 sandwiches. Apiece.
We land, I lie about having a connecting flight, get the actual fuck out of there, and my family openly wonders why I am tanking a bottle of wine by myself with hardly cooled murderous anger in my eyes.