I love private planes and have been fortunate enough to fly twice on them.
You drive up to the plane (LITERALLY up to the plane) and can just…walk…right…in.
You shake the pilot’s hand, they ask if you’d like a drink, and you’re on your way. Hassle-and-molestation-free.
So I don’t understand why celebrities and notables fly commercial planes. It’s a terrible experience.
Mitt Romney flew commercial before the 2012 campaign.
And one day, it got to him, when he put a “Vulcan death grip” on one member of celebrated musical duo LMFAO due to a seat-reclining issue in first-class.
I, too, have faced the wrath of the Mormon Meteor.
The year was two thousand and seven.
I was at my local place of shopping, Fig Garden Village, in the hamlet of Fresno.
I heard the man speak. And he was good. *Too* good.
I saw the orange line from his poorly-applied tanning lotion down the side of his face.
He must’ve noticed that I saw his…flaw.
After his pronouncements, I approached him, hat-in-hand, in tattered clothings. “please sir, may I take a daguerreotype with you?” A willowier me asked, with all due respect and humility.
He brushed me aside like a tse-tse fly.
I tapped him lightly on the shoulder, asking the question again, with even more due respect and humility, almost bowing out of reflex.
He leered at me with his Vulcan stare, ageing me 15 years in 15 milliseconds.
“I just have to see these people over here,” he said sternly, biting the words out of air like a voracious rat at a wheel of Gouda. “Just. Gimme. A. Minute.” Munch. Munch. Munch.
He upheld his promise and returned, politely, for a picture, even gently guiding my grandmother into the frame when she wanted to stay out of it (a memory she vividly remembers as the day she “met Rummy”).
He smiled a gentle smile, and we shared a knowing glance with each other. That man would become the President of United States.
I had that same glance with McCain one year later. :/
Good think I asked him if he would consider choosing Sarah Palin as his Vice-President.
At least I’m 1 for 3.
