The first at the Dallas airport, where I had a four-hour layover Monday, looked like he just stepped out of the deep woods of Arkansas. With his parents and brother, the bucktoothed kid wore a blue T-shirt that read, “I (Heart) Hot Moms.” Probably his Sunday best.
On the plane to Reno, I sat beside a Hispanic kid of probably 12 years. He used his food tray to play some weird solitaire game I couldn’t quite figure out so I taught him to play tonk. He didn’t seem very interested so I let him return to his game. He repaid me by laying two of the foulest smelling farts I’ve ever had the displeasure of smelling. His father sat across the aisle, watching the Season 1 DVD of “Lost” on his laptop.
“You’re watching a show about a plane crash on a plane,” the kid told his father.
Thankfully, we made it safe and sound.