Day One, continued
Aug 13, 12:01
I only drink ginger ale on airplanes. And at my mom’s house because my stepdad likes it and it’s usually well stocked. I have just been served a complimentary beverage and the progmo (that’s what they are) is flowing and everything is fine. Life really is that good at 38,000 feet.
The little girl and father sitting next to me (yes the same ones- I can’t believe it either) order Sun Chips. I believe the plane’s general consensus is that Doritos are inferior judging by the ratio remaining on the refreshment carts at this point in the serving process.
When I first sat down I received a grunt from the father in response to my scaryingly cheerful salutation. I like the girl much more than her father anyway because you don’t have to ask children to keep it real (it’s automatic) and I’m big on that. Sometimes grown-ups just need to recognize.
I’m typing this entry and editing the last and am a little fearful of my subjects discovering their new found stardom prematurely. There is little (no) extra space in these seats. I tried to tip the screen towards the aisle a little to make the viewing angle more of a challenge. Even if the father was to read my screen he still couldn’t say anything without revealing his secret passion for laptop screen espionage. Frankly I’m fine with that level of awkwardness; I find it humorous and in any case, everything I type is the truth so it’s really all a giant non-issue. What’s he going to say?
But I still feel a little weird (dirty?) sitting here typing about someone without their knowledge. He’s right there. Right. There. It’s like I’m spying on someone undressing in another apartment building across from mine in the city. Let’s talk about something else.