As usual, a man tries to take over some of my personal aircraft space. Be it armrest or in this case, footspace, a man traveler inevitably tries to push his stuff towards mine in the hopes that I will back my stuff away like a good little creature a great deal lower on the food chain.
Well, not according to Mastercard. In the eyes of that God, we are equal. So.
Two, not one, mind you but two babies are crying on the plane. As much as I am annoyed I also sympathize - and I suppose that if I didn't have to keep up appearances to avoid being thrown off the plane I might scream during the flight too but I like to avoid the risk of institutionalization and/or electro shock treatment and so I just order a cocktail.