by Beau Cadiyo
There was a sophomore at Georgetown on the plane sitting next to me. She was normally everything I’d want in a girl, physically speaking: of moderate height, slender, blonde, studious, smart, educated, wearing some sort of athletic sweatshirt that she'd actually earned by playing a sport.
Then she opened up her mouth. First it was about how she was going to be a lawyer but wanted it solely because of the social prominence it would bring her. Then, she just wanted to be a housewife and raise kids. Then, she bragged about how she’d shouted at a stewardess for trying to stop her from going to the business class to talk to her father, and how awesome she was for doing it in front of everyone else in business class.
After a week spent almost exclusively with Europeans, this was my reintroduction to Americans.
That wasn’t all: the sandwich that United served was soggy. Not just moist – it was as if the bread had been soaked in water and then chilled. I didn’t even eat it; instead, I ate the sides, then asked for some Scotch. I'd just wait to get back to the US and get something to eat at the airport. I didn't need food, anyways; I had a lot to think about.