I Understand that this Plane Is Going Down, But There Are Still a Few Concerns that I Would Like to Bring to Your Attention
This Boeing 747 may be plummeting to Earth, but I still don’t think that entitles you to be unnecessarily rude. I’ve been meaning to discuss this with you, and because this will apparently be my last opportunity, I would like to bring a few things to your attention.
Firstly, I did not appreciate your curt response to my earlier remarks about the food during the meal service. When I said, “Even if this salmon gives me food poisoning, it’s at least still better than dining at Olive Garden,” I felt that this deserved more than what amounted to a dismissive shrug and a patronizing chuckle on your part. Because I don’t think that I have to explain that explosive diarrhea and projectile vomiting is far less detrimental to one’s dignity than being seen sharing a booth at Olive Garden, you know.
You should also know that I agonized over just the right way to word that clever turn of phrase, and so is it really so hard to be a little more convivial when conversing with your seatmate on what should have been a 7 ½ hour flight? If there’s any silver lining to this plane’s imminent destruction somewhere over Missouri just 3 hours into our flight, it’s that I’ll at least be spared the remaining 4 ½ hours of your aloof and contemptuous presence.
Furthermore, I’m not about to overlook the fact that you had the audacity to give me a sideways look when I asked to pass your seat so that I could make my way to the restroom. You should understand that I suffer from both a small bladder and crippling alcoholism, and I therefore find myself needing to evacuate my bladder with a frequency that others sometimes find annoying. And so while I am sorry that I had to excuse myself twice during the meal service, I maintain that this was far less inconvenient than what those clean-up crews will have to confront when sifting through what will soon be our charred remains on the ground.
You should know further that in the past I have tried to avoid having to disturb my seatmates when nature calls , but the last time that I attempted to pee into an empty Dasani water bottle from my seat during my flight to Phoenix, they threatened to divert the plane. This was mostly due to the fact that I was seated next to a nine-year-old and I still had an erection from my nap, but I was only trying to be considerate of the fact that that kid was autistic and prone to outbursts every time I needed to move past her.
And please do not think that I am going apologize for having acted out each and every line of The Lucky One from my seat during the in-flight movie. I happen to be a big fan of Zac Efron, and if my enthusiasm for his works makes you uncomfortable, then you’re just going to have to accept and deal with it because that movie deserves far more credit than it received from the critics who just couldn’t appreciate the film’s fine acting and superior script. And if you want to sleep while onboard a plane, I suggest some noise-cancelling headphones to better prevent my acting from disturbing you.
Lastly, I think your screams and pitiful weeping during this final descent to our death are a little over-the-top. They remind me more of the forced histrionics of that little 12-year-old bitch from two rows behind us who tried to cut in front of me in line at the bathrooms earlier in the flight. Rest assured that I pissed all over the seat just so she could have something to think about when she entered the bathroom after me.
And really, you should realize that this plane crashing is certainly better than having to divert to Kansas City like they had mentioned they were going to do before the second engine gave out. Because let’s be honest: I’d rather be dead in a field somewhere near the border of Missouri than alive and held in perpetual delay on some tarmac in Kansas City.
And even if they had allowed us to deboard the plane, what do you think you would have done with a few spare hours in Kansas City? Scored some meth or molested a step-cousin? There’s only so much that Kansas City has to offer, you know, and so I think that having to lift your meal tray in order to let me pass, while admittedly cumbersome, was still better than having to find some few hours’ diversion in a city known more for its concentration of registered sex offenders and the flourishing culture of a Buffalo Wild Wings parking lot.
Thus, while I’m sad that my life may be coming to a premature end, I at least take some comfort in knowing that the world will soon be spared your trifling presence.