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I like to watch the map that shows the where the plane is. As the agony of travel bares on after hour and hour, you watch as you get closer closer to escaping your hellish existence in a tin can at 30k feet.

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I look at the map then take a sip of whiskey. Map, whiskey. Then I suck the last of the whiskey from the ice cubes while cracking open another bottle. Map, whiskey. Day dream a little.

Ding! Ladies and gentlemen...

>As the agony of travel bares on after hour and hour

What agony?

>you watch as you get closer closer to escaping your hellish existence in a tin can at 30k feet

Might as well bring some paint, to watch it dry...

The agony is from body aches from sitting in an uncomfortable chair and not getting physical movement for a few hours.

>The agony is from body aches from sitting in an uncomfortable chair and not getting physical movement for a few hours.

That sounds no different from my regular day at the office -- except that even cross-atlantic flights are shorter.

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