HEY Bitter Stewardess Lady!

Yeah, I called you a stewardess. Deal with it. What the hell is your problem anyway?

You ask me to hand over all of my trash and discards so they don't get left in the seatback pocket and then refuse to actually take them from me? Instead, you reach for the magazine that I was finished reading, pull your hand back, execute a piercing look and then walk away.

"What the heck was that?" I asked the lady sitting next to me.
"I have no idea," she replied.
"I've never had that happen to me before."

As punishment, you've been charged with using a toothbrush to scrub all armrests of this calamitous, end-of-the-world-we're-all-gonna-die swine flu pseudo epidemic (which we all now was started by the face mask manufacturers) on all planes that you board this week. Deal with it.

By the way, I was the one that left two magazines, an empty bottle of water, 2 pieces of plastic and about eight of those pollen cards from Wired strewn about my seating area.

I hear Virgin serves Absinthe in the air now... enjoy my free magazines United Air, they may be the last you see for awhile... well, I mean, like, after I fly you to Chicago next week.