Food and Eventually the Cattle Car To Dublin

Barbara, being  trendy and hipstery, hailed us an Uber to take us to the city. We had to eat and this airport was not making it easy for us.

After a brief ride to Queens, we arrived at our destination. Yelp tells us this place is amazing. I beg to differ. Beautiful posters of gyros got me excited. I ordered one. Oh, G.P. Diner, you’ve squandered my good will. 3 pieces of preportioned chunks of meat and goddamned lettuce on a gyro is a crime. 

The clean dumpout facility made up for the mediocre food…

With bellies full, Barbara orders us another Uber. So long Queens, we hardly knew ya!

Barbara said “fuck y’all!” Put on headphones and tuned out to the relaxing sounds of choo choos. Seriously. 

I got my damn boarding pass and waited. And waited. The line started forming at our gate, even though it not Southwest style seating. We all had our seats assigned so queueing up up 15 minutes before boarding is just stupid. 

Eventually the Aer Lingus cattle car called our numbers around 5:30 pm and we filed into the cramped confines of an A330, capacity 400. Felt like twice that. 

This is one of those planes where there are two seats of somewhat comfortable people, then four seats of miserable people, and then two seats of somewhat comfortable people. My seat was on the aisle right next to the mid plane toilet, which means gassy asses in my face as people queue up and people bashing into me every 3 minutes. 

Luckily I can’t sleep for shit on airplanes and I was able to relish every moment of indignation. I finally get cozy and BAM! Flight attendant running a 100 yard dash slams into me. My eyes close an hour later as my brain finally shuts down and WHAM! The enormous man behind me slams my seat around as he tries to get his roundular mass out of the seat and brushes his hairy sausage-like arms across my forehead and heads for the shitter. A similar scenario ensues as he returns to his seat. 

That covers the first hour of the flight. Only 6 more to go…

I will say the Irish Beef was delicious. Eating it wa s a fiasco, though. Imagine wrapping a rope around your body, pinning your elbows to your side, and trying to eat with the resulting T-Rex arms as the food tray is pressed up against your belly. Picture it. I’ll wait. 

Do we want to talk about the inflight wifi that cost me €20? Probably not. I had a “friend” on Facebook try to make me feel like an asshole for complaining about this marvel of modern technology that even allows us to communicate while traveling 600mph over the ocean. Sure, that’s valid, but if I can’t even open an email after paying for the service, it feels like a more like a fleecing that a marvel. Lesson learned. Don’t pay for wifi on airplanes. 

You can take a lot of this with a grain of salt. I report these facts after 40 or more hours with little or no sleep. My first time traveling abroad in 17 years is spent on two red eye flights in perpetual flop sweat and high levels of irritation. But all good things come to an end. We arrive in Dublin. Food seems like a good idea, but I’m not up for foodcourt slop. I hold out for something better in the city. John, had no time for that and went for the Irish Breakfast. He took a chance…And doddamnit, it paid off. The first of many Irish breakfasts for this crew. The great Rexit of 2016 continues. Dublin city awaits!

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About heartajack

I'm a graphic designer and occasional filmmaker that recently discovered the awesomeness that is the Can-Am Spyder Roadster. In recent years I've become obsessed with food and learning how to prepare it. I make the best damn ribs...EVER.
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