Soda Springs > Salt Lake City > Newark > Richmond
We've arrived in Newark after a four hour flight from Salt Lake City and are waiting at the gate for the final leg to Richmond. The flight from Salt Lake was unpleasant and uneventful. Since we had booked these tickets at the last minute, each of us was assigned a middle seat in a different row.
To Alison's left was an oversized man in an undersized seat, coughing and hacking his way through the flight. To my left was a twenty something young man who waited until the last possible moment to put his iPhone into airplane mode. Once we were aloft, he immediately connected to the plane's WiFi (not a good invention) and proceeded to spend the next four hours texting with friends in uninterrupted fashion. As best I could tell from my occasional surreptitious glance, no single message was more than 3-4 words in length. "Hey. Yo. What's up? I'm flyin. Cool. Yeah. Wanna hang tonight? Sure. When? Late. Ok..." (and so on ad nauseum). The full sentence (let alone a grammatically correct one) is a dying art.
As I write this, we're waiting for a pilot. We've got a plane and a gate and all of the passengers, but the pilot is in the air somewhere between Toronto and here. Once he or she arrives, we will board and get underway.
We're home. What a long day. This is a big country. Even flying at 500 miles/hour, it takes a while to get from the left side to the right side.
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