I’m in the Pointe Hilton

I’m in the Pointe Hilton Tapatio in Phoenix right now, on Official Agency Business. Phoenix is cool and dry tonight — about 40 degrees right now, and very pleasant. The same couldn’t be said for the plane ride, however. I was assigned to the aisle seat at the very back of the plane — the row that doesn’t recline. It’s right next to the bathroom, too, so during the whole flight my face was inches away from the motionless pelvises of strangers waiting to use the lavatory. I had a CD walkman and a good book, so it wasn’t too bad — that is, until the flight attendants passed out the “MEATLOAF SANDWICH” meals. Those capitalized words were printed on the white plastic sheaths that the reheated sandwiches came in, and twenty minutes after the meals were distributed, my life got a whole lot worse. I won’t mince words — those meatloaf sandwiches were just the fartin’est food I’ve ever been witness to. All the strangers waiting for the bathroom, the ones with their butts at my eye level, the ones just inches away from my face, each one a piquant, lasting, and olfactorially vehement contribution to make in row 25. Where the hell were the oxygen masks? You don’t read about this in Savvy Traveler magazine! “…when traveling on long trips, be sure to ask what the airline will be feeding the passengers. If it’s curry, consider taking another airline or, better yet, canceling your vacation.”

I’m in the Pointe Hilton

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