So what do we really think Stephen Slater, quarreler with women (!), said over the JetBlue microphones? Was he profane, as in all the jolly words hurled at women in angry moments, words that start with a and b and c? Was he poetic, railing at the heavens for the weary twist of fate that had caused him to bleed and founder? Was he praying to his own personal savior for patience in the midst of such adversity? What language did he choose in which to imprecate?
And how did the thunderstruck patrons of the airline, logy from lack of oxygen or anything to eat that wasn't sweet or excessively salty, respond to his rant? All they wanted was off the plane, right? Is this a new low in air travel or such a high moment that the lucky passengers will dine out on the story for ages to come? And how many of them will sue?
Personally, I have wanted to kiss the ground at the end of a few flights, not all of them especially long. I wondered if I'd ever walk again, after flying from Paris to California. There are certain young people, heedlessly romping the planet, whose lives would have been truncated after the spectacular six hour sessions of screaming with which they gifted a captive plane load, if my prayers had been answered. But I have not yet seen a woman bean a man with a suitcase or a flight attendant activate a water slide. More to look forward to?
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