Once again, I spent the week in Denver for work. It was a fairly uneventful week. The weather was nice, at least there was no snow. I continued to awake at odd hours of the night. I just can't seem to adjust to time zone differences like I used to.
My flight home yesterday was a little disheartening. First of all, Denver International Airport stinks. TSA confiscated a jar of artichoke dip (don't ask) from my carry-on luggage. I consider dip neither liquid nor gel, but I relinquished the jar without much of a fuss. That's the reward I get for not checking luggage.
Once on my Delta flight to Atlanta, I found myself sandwiched in between two other gentlemen.
The young man seated next to the window seemed nice enough, although I questioned whether or not he was an unaccompanied minor. Right before take-off he asked if I wanted the window up so that we could watch the plane become airborne.
I found this a bit odd, wondering if I should expect anything spectacular, such as a close call with the Rocky Mountains. He said that just going from zero to 400 miles an hour was a huge feat.
Having taken countless flights in my lifetime, I chose not to seem jaded and merely entertained his whimsical request. I should have known better, because it was all downhill from there.
In a span of five minutes, the conversation suddenly went from the spectacular take-off to him questioning my age. After replying that I had a few weeks left in my 30's, he asked "How's your health?"
How's my health? Seriously? I'm still not sure if he was intentionally trying to make me feel geriatric, but I couldn't help but be a tiny bit offended by the subsequent line of questioning. As I found out, he was a mere 24, and was very interested in what it feels like to get old. It got much worse, but I've managed to block most of it out, in hopes of avoiding weeks of therapy.
Fucker. How I restrained myself from jamming his tween skull against the against his window is nothing short of a miracle, but it surely is owed only to the known existence of air marshals.
Needless to say, once we landed in Atlanta, I hobbled my ancient ass to my connecting flight to Atlanta, and was home by 8 pm. Just in time for bed. Like a true oldie.
My final thoughts before passing out in bed were apologetic in nature, sending out positive thoughts of remorse to any of my elders who I might have ever offended with youthful arrogance. It's true what they say, every dog indeed has his day.
My flight home yesterday was a little disheartening. First of all, Denver International Airport stinks. TSA confiscated a jar of artichoke dip (don't ask) from my carry-on luggage. I consider dip neither liquid nor gel, but I relinquished the jar without much of a fuss. That's the reward I get for not checking luggage.
Once on my Delta flight to Atlanta, I found myself sandwiched in between two other gentlemen.
The young man seated next to the window seemed nice enough, although I questioned whether or not he was an unaccompanied minor. Right before take-off he asked if I wanted the window up so that we could watch the plane become airborne.
I found this a bit odd, wondering if I should expect anything spectacular, such as a close call with the Rocky Mountains. He said that just going from zero to 400 miles an hour was a huge feat.
Having taken countless flights in my lifetime, I chose not to seem jaded and merely entertained his whimsical request. I should have known better, because it was all downhill from there.
In a span of five minutes, the conversation suddenly went from the spectacular take-off to him questioning my age. After replying that I had a few weeks left in my 30's, he asked "How's your health?"
How's my health? Seriously? I'm still not sure if he was intentionally trying to make me feel geriatric, but I couldn't help but be a tiny bit offended by the subsequent line of questioning. As I found out, he was a mere 24, and was very interested in what it feels like to get old. It got much worse, but I've managed to block most of it out, in hopes of avoiding weeks of therapy.
Fucker. How I restrained myself from jamming his tween skull against the against his window is nothing short of a miracle, but it surely is owed only to the known existence of air marshals.
Needless to say, once we landed in Atlanta, I hobbled my ancient ass to my connecting flight to Atlanta, and was home by 8 pm. Just in time for bed. Like a true oldie.
My final thoughts before passing out in bed were apologetic in nature, sending out positive thoughts of remorse to any of my elders who I might have ever offended with youthful arrogance. It's true what they say, every dog indeed has his day.
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