I'm not a picky eater, but I do believe I've just finished the worst meal of my entire life.
I got the chicken. It smelled a bit like tire rubber, and tasted exactly like (don't ask me how I know what tire rubber tastes like).
I'm also turning into a bit of a germaphobe. The guy in front of me has a wet, hacking couch and everytime he gags and gurgles into a hanky (I'm an optimist; let's assume there's a hanky), I shudder.
The plane is going super fast. In an hour, we were flying over Pittsburgh. Why don't they always go so fast?
I think I'm going to try to nap now.