Last Sunday, my cross-country flight got delayed. I was ready to stab someone’s thigh with a butter knife. And then they gave us pizza. Tables and tables, just full of pizza. I became happy, and stabbed nobody.
This should happen all the time. When your flight is delayed, you should get pizza.
Flights get delayed. It’s shitty, but it’s how it is. But rarely are you given pizza because of it. Which is weird. Everyone deeply hates flight delays. Everyone deeply loves pizza. If someone’s flight gets delayed, and you give that someone pizza, they will go from hating your airline to eating pizza, and being like, you know what? At least they gave me pizza. These guys aren’t half bad.
A little more background on my situation: I was flying from Seattle to New York, after attending my cousin’s very lovely, very beer-filled wedding on a conifer farm. That’s a long flight, in the wrong direction. I was meant to depart at 2:30pm, and land at JFK at 11pm or so.
Then I got word, via my smarttelephone: my flight was delayed, and I’d be getting in around 1:30am. On a Sunday night (or Monday morning, really), with work the next day. Fury descended. I stopped at a friendly local airport pub and grabbed a beer to cool off. It didn’t work. I headed to my gate with an hour to spare, JUST IN CASE.