Traveling brings out the worst version of myself, exacerbating each and every one of my bad habits. But for some reason, just mentioning that I survived flying within the last 24 hours absolves me of any blame whatsoever! It’s like any accountability I should have is just thrown out a window like the innocent passenger on that Southwest flight. Being a girl on the motherfucking go is like life’s hall pass for being a shitty person.
I have no respect for other people’s time. This really annoys my friends when I am an hour late for a dinner reservation at a restaurant that only seats full parties. But if I flew that day?! It’s no biggie. Like, do you even know how bad the traffic was from LaGauardia? Let’s all one-up each other’s stories about how horrific our last Uber lot experiences were at the airport and forget that I made you all look like idiots in front of an intimidating model/hostess.
I generally don’t care for responding to emails or texts, especially if they are from a boy I’m ghosting or from my job. You can’t expect me to respond to your emails today, okay? The American Airlines wifi is a bigger joke than people who genuinely go on The Bachelor to find love.
Greasy hair and sweatpants? Barely a woman. Greasy hair and sweatpants on a day that I flew? Modern woman.
Sometimes I lie about flying when people judge me for having greasy hair. I say it’s because I flew but in reality it’s because I went to an all girls’ school growing up and never had the value of washing my hair instilled in me.
Over-posting on instagram stories
I’ve been trapped with a million strangers in this airport, and yet I haven’t spoken to a single human all day. Obnoxious selfies on my stories are the only way I know how to feel connected to the human race anymore. Please don’t unfollow me?
My therapist thinks I need to work on my binge eating issues, and I think she needs to stop being such a bitch (she doesn’t get mad when I call her that because she knows crankiness is a symptom of jet lag).
Everyone–except for my therapist apparently–knows that calories do not count in airports. Like casinos, airports and planes are not subjected to a linear time system, so the societal standards around sleep, caloric intake, or alcohol consumption do not apply here. Who is to say that Flipz Yogurt Pretzels and a pint of Bud Light don’t make a suitable first breakfast?
Faking a meet cute
My friends wouldn’t care if they knew that I’m on Bumble. Or maybe they would start a group text without me to gossiping about how meeting guys online makes me “soooo desperate”. So just in case, I’m gonna say I met Shane on a plane, okay?! It’s not desperate, Susan, it’s destiny!
Flying is also a great excuse for reading a book. Because if I admit to reading a book in any other situation other than being trapped on a TV-less wifi-less metal tube, I would be exposed as a smart girl with interests and then no boys would date me.