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On an unrelated note, Delta joins Dieter’s Dance Party

Happy as a little girl? Oh yes.

This has nothing to do with food and is only tangentially related to drink (in that I consumed a huge amount in a fairly short period of time), but I feel the need to share. Yesterday I spent rather longer than anticipated in the company of Delta Airlines and its minions owing to an “equipment malfunction.” During the FIVE HOUR DELAY that resulted from a TOILET EMERGENCY on board, I had lots of time to contemplate the sartorial splendor of the flight crew, which I found to be especially effective in taking my mind off the implications of flying on a plane that had just been serviced and certified as “flight ready” by a staff who couldn’t even fix the fucking thrones. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating, thank God for the portable bar.

Anyways, during the enforced confinement — first on the tarmac, then at the Minneapolis airport (I was CONNECTING not visiting, OK?) — I couldn’t help but notice that the Delta flight crews seem to have been styled by none other than Dieter himself. In fact, to the discerning eye it was apparent that the all male stew crew were refugees from the chorus of Sprockets. Cropped hair, meticulously sculpted facial fungus, and turtlenecks (often WITH vests!) as far as the eye could see. Now I couldn’t say whether the entertainment value was intentional, but it certainly came in handy. I don’t think I asked any of the boys to pat my monkey, but then again, my recall of what went down after about the third hour is still hazy at best.

In any case, I finally got where I was going and will leave you with the following: Screw you Delta Airlines. Strong protest to follow.

Now’s the time we dance.

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