Hell of a Guy

My Flight to Myrtle Beach


The title gives the plot away, doesn’t it?  Well, I am on an airplane heading from Atlanta to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  That is, me and several families with small children.  The children are being children, especially the smaller ones.  Unfortunately for me, and the other passengers without children, this is not a pleasant experience.  Kids are crying in front of me and kids are crying in back of me.  When one stops, another begins.  It is a full orchestra, with high pitched instruments, woodwinds, percussion section and even a screechy string section.  This is not classical music I am listening to, this is heavy metal, gangsta rap or something in that genre.  One little guy has quite a range and the decibels are way up there.

I love kids.  I have expressed that on this website a couple of times.  My joy level goes up 99.99% of the time when I am around little guys.  But on an airplane I am a little on edge when a kid is screaming off and on for a couple of hours.  I should add this to my list of things that piss me off.

As I sit in my cramped seat by the window of the outmoded, propeller driven antique that Delta put me on, my eyes get a little droopy.  I tend to doze off here and there.  I could hear the little angels as my mind meandered to that soft place we go to when we sleep.  I so wanted to stay there but was drawn back into reality with the shrill voices of about four of these little darlings at once; two behind me, one in front and another just to my right across the aisle.  I almost immediately had nefarious thoughts of what small children would look like skydiving.

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