An unsolicited true story (hint: on the interwebz, everything is unsolicited).
When I arrived (back) in the United States from Germany in the fall of 1991, the plane landed at JFK in New York City, and through the miracle, I am assuming of deregulation, the shortest distance to my final destination of Groton, Connecticut, was to and through Philadelphia.
So I frog marched sort of from the international arrivals lounge in JFK to a domestic departures area where I boarded a slightly smaller plane than the one I flew over the Atlantic Ocean and landed in a very dark Philadelphia International Airport where I changed planes to one so small I had both an aisle and window seat at the same time.
The pilot walked up the (center and only) aisle in the plane to the nose, opened what looked like a dutch door, and hopped up into the cockpit. I couldn't help noticing from my window seat after take-off that we were heading north by following the New Jersey Turnpike and I fretted about the Vince Lombardi rest stop at Exit 16 and hoped we had enough fuel in case we had to circle while whatever truck we were shadowing battled its way north through the congestion.
I remember at some point the hostess bringing around a wicker basket with hard candies in it as our snack, and I asked since regular size aircraft had movies if we should expect a puppet show.
I don't recall the answer, but I guess, almost thirty years on I should be glad I didn't have to share a row with Landon Grier. With him on-board I can only imagine there's no need to feel bad about not having a movie, though the verdict's still out on how good an idea having a rodeo is.
-bill kenny
No comments:
Post a Comment