told you before that i was a simple person, with ordinary expectations
when you have a 65 year old vietnam vet who insists on grabbing your hand to rub it against the metal plate in his skull, breathing his whisky breath all over you, and regaling you with his stunning blackjack win and masterful dicking of an asian prostitute, all the while being so drunk that the crew refuses to give him any more alcohol and insisting that he had been "fighting for this joint before all you cunts came out of your mothers joint" AND provoking the idiot essential herb therapist next to me to tell me about her essential oils which are essentially essential, which is what is so essentially good about them, AND when youre finally pretending to read a book, youre dying to go to the toilet but refuse to take your eyes off page 434 because that bastard will start talking to you again, so you sit there dancing the "need to do a number 1" shuffle, when the crew stuffs up and gives you 2 chicken teriyaki's to eat all by yourself in peace and quiet, you call it a damn good flight!
its all relative, mang. me, i love the little things. i can count on little things to stay little, not give me a hard time, not get out of control, and generally be nice.
see what i mean?