I’m always shocked by the irony of an airplane toilet. It’s one of those places where you can tell that those responsible for posting the signage had no faith in man’s intelligence. Yet at the same time the signs really set the occupant up for failure or criminality.
“Please enjoy a duty-free flight,” announced the flight attendant. My eyes shut and I smiled at what I hoped would be a true and magical statement. While I love not paying duties, I wasn’t thinking greenbacks. I was praying against brown splats. The plane would only suspend itself in the air for a whole fifty minutes. Sixty-three, the attendant had noted from gate to gate.
While I was in Dominica’s largest city Roseau, which is more like a quaint little capital that feels like New Orleans without the Jazz or the party or the food, I was looking to leave Roseau. Read more
When I was in college, Monday night was just an extension of the weekend. (So too were Tuesday through Thursday.) But when you strap on the tie and white-collar yourself to the corporate world, Funday Mondays go the way of keg stands and funnels. You just don’t do them any more. But down in Atlanta, in a much nicer setting than a frat house basement, a few friends set up a brewery called Monday Night Brewing and things still get corporately wild.
Most people whinge about the time they’re forced to wait in an airport terminal prior to boarding. But an airport terminal should be a more appreciated place. I would even argue a place where someone not flying would hope to spend some leisure time. Think about it, the airport terminal has all the trappings of a popular New York City club: security checkpoints, one of the few places in the world where people commit to buying a bottle of liquor, and a great place for star sightings. Additionally, the only time death tolls that aren’t mass murders are ever paid any attention to is when they happen in a nightclub with inadequate emergency exits or when a plane crashes (and the big ones always begin at airport terminals). Read more