July 20, 2009
I'm supposed to be writing a bitchy (oh-so-bitchy) post about PIA. And flights that leave airports 10 hours later because crew mysteriously disappears off the face of the planet (only to reappear hours later to put the blame on bad weather and delayed passengers). And the incompetence of airline employees who should be collectively killed in a suitably gruesome way. I should be telling you about the mob scene at the Karachi airport for the last few hours of the 11 hours I was waiting there yesterday for the bloody 7:00am flight to finally take off at 4:00pm. I should be sharing the video clip I took of an old uncle who was a heart patient cursing the airline attendants and sparking a riot. I should also tell you about how the Lahori crowd (those scheduled for the 7:00am flight to Lahore which also got delayed) blocked all the exits and refused to let any other PIA flight leave untill the PK 207 (the one to Lahore) left. Naturally the next flight out was the one to Lahore. I should be telling you all about my sweet fellow passenger who I lost on the plane but without whose company I wouldn't have been able to retain my sanity through the gruelling ordeal. (Thank you Adeel, wherever you are). I should be telling you lots and lots of things using the most acerbic vocabulary at my disposal, but I have no energy left to do it. Instead, I'm lying down in an extremely comfortable hotel bed, willing myself to sleep at 10:00pm because I have to wake up at 6:00am tomorrow. Welcome-to-the-working-world. It fucking sucks. Take me back to New York City where class isn't till two p.m. and I crawl out of bed at 1:30. But the good thing is I get paid (eventually) and I get to stay in nice hotels where someone else makes the bed and does the cleaning up. My mom would shake her head at this and say your bed is plenty nice at home you ungrateful person and since when did anyone aside from the maid ever make your bed. But fellow hotel-ling enthusiasts will know exactly what I mean when I say there's something amazingly relaxing about coming home to a nice hotel room. Na? Today, I'm tired. And I'm desperate for a back massage. What-oh-what I wouldn't do for a quick trip to Thailand right now for an appointment with a masseuse at the beach. Sigh. And while I am on a fantasy trip, a cold, Pina Colada would be fabulous. Oh and a tall, dark John-Abraham-esque man at my beck and call would really be the cherry on top. Dear diety, today's wishes have been spelled out loud and clear. If anyone up there is feeling even remotely fond of me (or even slightly ashamed at the hell you put me through on Sunday), I wish immediate compliance. Thank you. Goodbye.