The person running the Commodore has a mini-bat on the desk as an open threat, reminding it that it’s not allowed to break down

  • Midnight Wolf@lemmy.worldEnglish
    164·
    5 months ago

    I have flown SW for the past, shit, 9 years? Mostly because of the unassigned seating, and being disabled means I get on the plane first, which means front row availability, which means leg room, first dibs on beverages, and quick bathroom access. Y’all jelly, I know. All I had to do to get perks like this was survive a debilitating stroke with life-long impairments.

    Looks like these still some space in the back. Later, losers 😎 streeeeetch~

    • huquad@lemmy.mlEnglish
      35·
      5 months ago

      I bet you get to skip the line at water parks too. What a privileged life! \s

    • meep_launcher@lemm.ee
      9·
      5 months ago

      Boy I miss flying southwest. I flew spirit for the first time last weekend, and our flight got redirected because of storms over Chicago. We stayed in Detroit for a few hours, but getting in at 3am when you expected 10pm feels as exhausting as running through the woods, pulling out your cellphone to find it died. There’s no way to call for help, and it is dark. You know where your home is, you just need to find the trail. “Uphill, UPHILL” you think “wait I already saw that rock, did I? Or not?” You are delirious, the lines on the shadows get fuzzier. The neurotoxin is kicking in. You keep running and as your eyes begin to water you quietly hum “you are my sunshine” to try and keep consciousness. You suddenly stop to see rustling from the bushes. You aren’t humming now. There is nothing discreet about this, he smelled you, he saw you, and he wants you. From some depth of your weary soul comes the most primal yell that you have no control over. You sprint as fast as you can in the other direction, but suddenly your leg gives way. You fall into the mud and attempt to get back up, but now the world is spinning. “God not like this” you think. You stumble again and again, but the footsteps behind you went from a run to a walk. It’s over, but you knew it was long ago. There was no other way this would end. You turn to see him in his dark determined eyes. He is covered in blood brandishing a clever. He doesn’t even look human. He is the ghost story your parents told you about as a child. He is the unsettled heart beat that wakes you in the night. He is Shia LaBeouf.