After we decide to go to McDonald's and are walking towards it, we see a group of three black young men dressed identically- from their black jackets and white t-shirts to their lime green shoelaces. Stunning. We coach each other not to laugh. Very quickly in line behind them, Sarah catches that the mood in the McDonalds has become very excited since these guys walked in- probably because, as we found out, they were the rap group known as Pretty Ricky. We laughed at our judgmental natures and went about our business.
We sat at the gate behind a man and a cute fluffy small dog and watched the baggage men fail. A bunch of us stared out the widow, horrified, as packages and bags fell from to the ground the top of their conveyor belt ride to the plane belly.
Soon after, we were on our way to Phoenix. The flight was mildly boring. Five or so hours of chatting, playing Nancy Drew on Sarah's computer, watching Serenity on my ipod and then came hell. We were instructed to strap in and put our stuff away and not move with a half-hour left in our flight and very unexpectedly. We had to go to the bathroom and thus tortured ourselves and each other the rest of the flight, talking about pee.
We did not pee on that plane.
We ate a brief and vaguely unsatisfying lunch in Phoenix and went to the desk at our gate to beg for our lives and sanity. My seat was supposed to be 6E. Sarah's- 32A. This could not be. A short time later, Ian Ashton had given up 6F and Sarah and I were happily sequestered on the plane. May his memory live forever.
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