I am writing this from my cramped seat on a Delta Airlines flight somewhere between Salt Lake City and Detroit. The guy in front of me has his seat all the way back and he keeps looking back at me and giving me the stinkeye every time one of us in my row moves and touches his seat. The guy next to me has obviously taken a tab of methamphetamine because he is constantly fidgeting and twitching and leaning over to talk to his fiance who is seated behind him, and his step-father who is seated ahead of him. I've never see one person make it so complicated to order on bottle of vodka and a cup of ice cream. Seriously.
Many, many hours ago, the gate keeper at the airport cheerily announced that we would be delayed two hours for a mechanical issue and then, once we got airborne, we would have to divert to Detroit to refuel before carrying on to Newark. Salt Lake City is at a pretty high altitude, and that combined with the unusually high temperatures (Global Warming again), would make take-off turn into more of, well, I'd rather not...
So, the plane could only carry enough fuel to get us to Detroit. Detroit! Detroit? Detroit, where we would land, fuel up and carry on to Newark.
To any of you out there who were jealous of my week-long motorcycle jaunt through some of the most spectacular terrain on the planet, well, I did have to divert to Detroit, and I didn't get to use the desk all week, and quite frankly my roomie was a bit edgy (alot edgy), and I did get a badly sunburned lower lip.
Nah, I didn't think so.