As I write this, I am sitting in the Las Vegas airport. There are fat people everywhere eating pastries or hotdogs, while I sip on water and think about how much I'd love some damn fries. There are crying children aplenty. There are annoying people on cell phones talking loudly. There is the constant whir, ching and clang of slot machines. Mostly, though, there is the guy on the PA at Gate #4 who just LOVES to hear himself talk. He's been on three times in five minutes, and I swear, he's not saying anything useful. We know the flight from Phoenix is about to arrive any minute and when it deplanes, those of us going on to Burbank, the flight's next destination, can line up. We know the flight is leaving on time.
I'm hoping someone beside me tells this dumb-ass behind the counter to get off the speaker. This is not his crack at his own Fifteen Minutes of Fame. This is an airport, and worse, it's Southwest.
On the upside, there's free internet access at McLaren in Las Vegas. Of course, I can't hear myself think because the dumb-ass just came on the speakers again.
It's easy to hate people when you fly.
