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I am returned.

Someone died on the plane while all the ghouls around me jockeyed for position to watch and I fought the urge to scream at them to show a little human decency. My iPod battery died because I forgot to charge it. The gentlemen--both redolent of the South where coon dawgs and the War of Northern Aggression are primary topics of discussion--sat beside me and started singing duets of equally Southern lineage. I watched with dread fascination as the elder of the two poured a glass of Pepsi and left it perched perilously close to the edge of the tray in turbulent air. I didn't even swear when the lukewarm concoction coated my leg. On the other side of me, a paunchy, middle-aged man whose aspect screamed both used car salesman and kiddie porn dungeon proprietor pulled out a battered IBM laptop and preened for a second to see if anyone had noticed that he was important enough to carry a laptop. Then he, I swear to God, started watching Navy Seals.

At least there were no phones in the seat rests. I don't think I could have dealt with the old "guess where I'm calling from".

Now to go quit my go-kart job so that I can accept another job with about a 70% pay upgrade.

Sigh.