ShareThisThere has been much ado in the media about the online communication phenomenon that is Twitter. It's a lot of talk about something that's supposed to happen in 142 characters or less.
One might think that everything has already been said about Twitter, that it's already been everywhere it can go. But today, at great personal risk, I will take this social-networking application where it has never been before -- 30,000 feet in the air.
Waiting at my gate, eating a Chaco Taco. Small girl across from me eyeing my Chaco Taco. 7:00 p.m.
When has yelling at a gate agent ever done anyone any good? Probably feels nice to shout at someone with as much power as you. 7:11 p.m.
Probably feels nice for the gate agent to arbitrarily extend your layover, too. 7:12 p.m.
Caution, the moving platform is about to end. Caution, the moving platform is about to end. 7:35 p.m.
Now boarding Business Elite, First Class, Extremely Wealthy and Gaming the Air Miles System. 7:52 p.m.
Now boarding not you. 7:59 p.m.
Now boarding every single person in the lobby. Crushing at the gate may improve your seat. 8:05 p.m.
Window seat! Joy of joys. I am the master of my window. 8:15 p.m.
Woman in next seat reaches across my lap and closes my window, promptly goes to sleep. At least she's not a talker. 8:22 p.m.
Pretty sure the man behind me is dying of SARS. No other available seats. Holding my breath. 8:25 p.m.
Today's stage of Le Tour de Tarmac is 500 kilometers in duration. Not taking off anytime soon. 8:31 p.m.
Have narrowed it down to either SARS or Ebola. Possibly some combination of the two. 8:40 p.m.
Seat belts fastened, tray tables locked, chairs in upright position, passengers in full-on sardine mode. 8:43 p.m.
Airborne. Today's flight will be one quarter the duration you just spent sitting on the runway. Thank you for flying with us. 8:50 p.m.
Ebola Man has gone to sleep or mercifully passed away. Woman in adjoining seat snoring. Probably dreaming of open window. 9:04 p.m.
Plane has not yet crashed as a result of my Twittering. Knock on bulkhead. 9:18 p.m.
Soft drinks and peanuts, complimentary. Beer, four dollars. Look of disdain from the cart woman, also complimentary. 9:26 p.m.
Willing to suffer the slings and arrows of unhappy cart woman for a half-ounce bag of peanuts. 9:30 p.m.
Just getting into my book, please fasten seat belts, tray tables locked, chairs in upright position. 9:42 p.m.
Haven't even opened my peanuts. 9:43 p.m.
Touchdown. Open my window to see the tarmac, woman next to me wakes up, gives me nasty look. Hope she gets Ebola flu. 9:51 p.m.
Back at the gate, off to locate luggage. Feeling a SARS-like tickle at back of throat. 10:18 p.m.
Oh look, security guards. I wonder what they ... 10:21 p.m.
(Ben Grabow writes for the young, the urban and the easily amused. Contact him at thinlyread(at)gmail.com.)
(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, http://www.scrippsnews.com)
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