Page 123: A Romper Room with Wings

Southwest Airlines -- known affectionately as "Southwurst" -- is lovable for one big reason, their fares. After that, the list of Things To Love runs amazingly short -- the skies darken, the Dracula theme music swells, and the Unhappy List unfolds a hundred yards long.

I grew up on a ranch, so I'm really fine with the boarding process, which greatly resembles a cattle chute operation -- line up by ear tag, and then stampede for a place in the trailer. HAWWWWWWW cattle! HAWWWW!

We were returning from our Philly/New York vacation, and had a lovely 2 hour delay on the tarmac while The Three Stooges fiddled with a defective stall indicator. "Hey, what's the big idea?" Chief Engineer Moe asked. "Give me that wrench!"

"But I'm busy finishing me Brew!" Second Engineer Curly replied, sipping an sudsy evilish-looking dark ale. "Three more of these babies, and Woo Woo Woo!!!" Of course, he was immediately conked on the head with the wrench, and so it went for a couple of hours. But soon we were duct-taped up and ready to rattle into the sky, shaking like a '73 Plymouth.

Amazingly, repair crew antics weren't the lowlight of the trip; it was the plane full of shrieking 2 year olds. Now, we've all had two year olds on a plane before, but like me, you've always gone out of your way to keep the little dears entertained and quiet as a courtesy to the other passengers…right? Well, those parents didn't get on this flight. Toddler Ted in front of us had a milk and jelly bib from breakfast (his shirt) and hair that hadn't been cut or combed since his christening two years prior. He had the amazing ability to shriek like a banshee for the entire duration of the trip, absolutely delighting his parents. They honestly thought it was the cutest thing since Cabbage Patch Kids, and the idea that it might be a nuisance never crossed their tiny, unevolved mollusk brains. "Look at our little Junior! EVERYBODY can hear him shriek! Isn't that CUTE?"

Not to be outdone, the Gruesome Twosome in the row behind us quickly brought the competition up a notch. "LOOK ATT DAT MAWMMY!" Number one yelled, some fifty three times. Mawmmy apparently didn't have the strength to respond. "MAWWWWMMY! LOOK DATT!!!" Number Two wasn't pleased. "WAAAAAAAAAAH," he squalled. I mean, why should Number One get the entire airwaves to himself?

But the Olympic Champion was the waif in the aisle across and up one. I've flown over a million miles and I've never seen anything like it. This little lamb, with a dirty mop for hair and an unnerving scream for a voicebox, did the most amazing thing. He stood on the tray table for half the trip, jumping up and down on it like it was a trampoline, and then leaping over the seat into the arms of his adoring mother in the next row. The poor lady in the row with Daddy and the Miracle Jumper looked suicidal. She exchanged several glances with me. "It's okay," I whispered to her. "You weren't using your sanity anyway, were you?"

I forgot to mention the opera. To complete this perfect Quadfecta, the gentleman in front of us had two daughters who started singing, in perfect unison, "Old Macdonald Had a Farm" for the entire take-off and ascent. They were able to cover cows, sheep, ducks, geese, horses, pigs, and goats before we even rumbled down the runway. Curiously, they never mentioned the jackass on their farm (ahem -- the father), who was seated right next to them but uttered nary a word during the entire aria.

Within 30 minutes, I had gnawed off all my fingernails into stumps. Keaton and Kellen sat like perfect gentlemen, but took it all in with amazement.

"It's simple, boys," I explained. "What we need here is a royal, first class spanking -- I'm talking a rear end rump whuppin' -- for each and every one of these parents."

Truly, it was a romper room with wings.

When I got home, I put an extra $20 in the Private Jet fund. Baby steps, you know...