My hope is that God has the sort of sense of humor that when these suicide bombers die, expecting to see their 72 virgins, they instead end up waiting on an AirTran ticket line at the Miami airport for, if not all eternity, than a nice chunk of it before something even gnarlier happens to them. Hence my column today.
I did like this early morning e-mail:
As an erstwhile frequent flier myself, I could regale you with many anecdotes which often end with, “so, there I was, stranded at O’Hare waiting for Cinnabon to open to redeem my food voucher.” Alas, I’ll spare you and leave you with this. Bravo, sir! Hear, Hear!