Another Airplane Lament

Think back to your own experiences in the aeronautical realm, and you’ll realize it’s true. On every commercial flight in the United States, there’s always one hot chick. Without fail, one suitably fetching vixen will be present to “fly the friendly skies” with you, no matter whether you want one or not.

Frankly, it’s a bit like the folks who book flights—if such creatures exist these days—have planned it out this way. A sort of mental check list for each trip, perhaps: Crying baby? Check. Dimwits who must use the lavatory three times during a 12-minute flight? Check. Total babe? Check.

Maybe it’s the corollary to the “There’s one born every minute” line: There’s one gorgeous lady per flight.

One of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—had reason to reflect upon this whilst caught in a dank, fetid, overheated gate at the local airport. Ever the jetsetter, “Chip” would soon be off for yet another business meeting with literary bigwigs, and thus he sat in volation purgatory, awaiting the pre-boarding of his aircraft.

And, as always, in the very same waiting area sat one—count her: One—pulchritudinous gal. Although she was probably set for a trip to compel her wealthy boyfriend to pay for something obscenely expensive or other, “Chip” thought that she might very well be single.

(We know what you’re thinking, dear reader: Yeah, right. Hot chicks aren’t dating for the roughly two minutes in between each rich, aggressive boyfriend. But a fellow can have his dreams, can’t he?)

Accordingly, and again as always, “Chip” hoped that this aesthetically pleasing lass would be assigned the seat next to his. The kind of hope that one normally offers on flights to ward off terrorists.

When the boarding began, however, it turned out that this beauteous wench sat far away from “Chip.” For some reason, “Chip” always has this kind of luck. And we mean always: After more time in the air than John Glenn, “Chip” can count all the times he’s sat next to the hot chick on no fingers.

Instead, “Chip’s” delightful companion was a kind yet obscenely obese woman. Without even putting forward an effort, this roly-poly lady took up her own seat, much of “Chip’s,” and much of the aisle, to boot. Ah, this was going to be a relaxing flight.

As if by magic, this woman—who slept through almost the entire flight—woke up exactly as the snack cart made its way to her row. After all, she can’t miss a few packs of honey-roasted peanuts, now can she?

So, rather than impress the comely vixen far away with tales of penury and “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” “Chip” found himself wedged between an outsized woman’s outsized can and the can. As Rod Stewart once warbled, some guys have all the luck.