There are no *degrees* of full.
I’m wrapping up a week with the family in Ohio, waiting for my flight back to DFW. The flights between Dayton and DFW are not, typically, on a 747, so the gate agent will occasionally ask people to check their carry-ons.
“We have a very full flight,” the agent said on the intercom, explaining they’d check carry-ons for free to save space.
“Listen, it’s just ‘full.’ ‘Very full’ would mean the same thing as ‘full,'” I explained as I shoved a bag in front of them. “Also, merry Christmas.”
In fact, the crew at the gate could not have been more engaging, given that I suspect few of them were thrilled to be working on Christmas. As we started boarding, one employee declared, “Merry Christmas! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy Hanukkah! If I left anyone out, I’m sorry!”
The flight into Ohio was packed, too. The #adorbs older fella I was sitting next to leaned over and said, “I can’t believe this many people want to go to Dayton.”
He also helped me with my transition to Old Manhood, giving me some lines I may try out on the poor person sitting next to me when we board the flight back. He looked around the plane and said, “It’s not like it used to be. You used to get so much more.”
I just need to work on furrowing my brow is a disappointed manner.
A trip to Dayton takes us back through the Scaia Origin Story.
My mom still has the same magnets on the refrigerator from when we were kids. I agree with this assessment completely. She’s from Connecticut, and her name is Linda, so the “Linda for US Senate” magnet is a more recent addition. She was just as successful as the Linda who actually ran.
The Christmas tree also harkens back to a bygone era. You can see a picture of yours truly from kindergarten, sporting the same rich, full head of hair I have now.
We also have ornaments celebrating pop culture icons of modern day, as you can see.
A trip to Dayton also represents the origin story for how I became a malcontent.
I got together with some high school associates. We reminisced about times one of us was an instigator. Then we’d all egg that person on. For instance, we’d encourage each other to be insubordinate and fire off questions at the teacher like we’re interrogating them to keep them from sticking to lesson plans that, now that I think of it, were probably designed to help us become successful in life.
So thanks to my teachers [many of whom I suspect still roll their eyes when they think of me] for helping me blossom as a smart-aleck. Now, I’m professionally insubordinate, an award-winning insubordinate!
I work in such a vibrant industry, after all. In fact, my mom was looking to replace the radio in her kitchen. I thought that’d be an #adorbs Christmas gift from her insubordinate, malcontent, journalist kid, so I stopped at three different stores before I found one that sold an AM radio. What a bright future!
