The principal cometh

Scrappy Doo is at this hour on an aging United Airlines 747 winging his way to me. He’s flying on my miles. I booked him a choice seat. But he let some homo at the airport talk him into sitting in the exit row window. Sadly, the exit row window on an 1953 United 747 doesn’t have a window, instead you have a life raft for 85 people in the door frame in front of you blocking your feet. If that doesn’t screw with you enough, people tend to stand in the exit aisle the whole night, some old fart stretching himself out because he’s either too old, stupid or broken to sleep.

Scrappy called me prior to leaving for the airport, he was already in a bad mood. He called as he changed planes in Denver to tell me he had to sit next to some Ethiopian fat woman who smelled. He called me from San Francisco, to let me know some Indian bitch took her shoes off behind him and massage her feet the entire flight smelling up the entire aircraft.  American, the land of the beautiful. Now he has the life raft to contend with. But that’s the least of his problems.

Tomorrow early a.m. he will arrive Sydney, he will go thru passport, clear customs, enter the arrival hall and see a sea of black haired young twinkie looking Asians and literally blow up. If you think the Royal Wedding is gonna be big, just get ready for this. I will shove him in a cab, take him home squabbling the entire way, dump him at the apartment and head off to an appointment. He will have to fume by himself.

The adventure has just begun.

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