Chapter IX, werein the author complains a lot

So I board my tiny little Canadair jet Tuesday afternoon and take my accustomed aisle seat. I look with apprehension as the remaining passengers board the flight saying that little prayer we all do -- "not next to me, not next to me". There she was, three hundred pounds of woman bearing down on seat nine E. Thighs like sides of beef, she gave me the nod. It was not my lucky day. She did not talk to me at least. I feigned sleep as soon as I could anyhow, just to make sure. As soon as we were airborne she pulled out a bag of Chex snack mix and munched away. At first I thought the smell was the snacks, but I realized she was just odoriferous. I bet there were wrinkles and rolls that had not been washed for months. Hell, there was probably a pizza roll or ham sandwich moldering away in there. Her fat may have been hiding the Limburgh Baby or Natalie Holloway. At least the flight was short.

I went to a wing place for dinner. I had a hankering for a few hot pieces of chicken and cold beer. They said the wait was short. They seated two parties that came in after me. As I was heading to the hostess stand to see what was up, they led me to the worst table in the house. Front center of the room, near the door and next to the kitchen. I told the hostess it was crap, they seated people behind me and then give me a shitty table, but she pretty much ignored me. I will not be back soon. Listen, if you are a hostess take note. Quite often men dining alone in mid week at a restaurant near a hotel are probably on business. That means expense accounts. That means we tip big. Do not put us at a table in the middle of the room. We want a booth in the corner. Many dining establishments share tips, you screwed yourself and the waitress, who was not so good at her job either.

I hate my rental car, it is the GM version of the PT Cruiser, whatever they call it (Chevy HHR?). If you own one of these vehicles you are a douchebag. I do not care if you never visit here again. Face facts. In addition, if you drive that boxy-looking Nissan SUV you should immediately hang yourself also. If you drive a Scion of any type you might as well wear a name tag that proclaims to the world you are an asshole with no taste. I drive a Taurus as a company car and it is a shitsucker vehicle too, so there.