If Your Flight Lands Earlier Than Expected, Do NOT Collect…
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If Your Flight Lands Earlier Than Expected, Do NOT Collect Your Luggage.
WARNING!
Please, if you read this and you’re at an airport. DO NOT PICK UP YOUR LUGGAGE.
If you arrive earlier than expected, don’t pick it up! I’m serious. Please believe me. I’m currently at an airport, stuck in these… loop things that keep fucking happening. This goes out as a lifeline to anyone who finds themselves in the same situation as me. Or anyone who ever decides to travel by plane.
My name is… Just call me Chris. And this isn’t the first time this has happened to me.
If you’re confused, let me explain. If you arrive earlier than you’re supposed to when you travel by air. You did not arrive at your destination.
You are not at an airport.
It may look like an airport, it may feel like an airport, but I can guarantee you it’s not. It’s some fucked up liminal space where nothing makes sense and if you do the wrong thing, well… I’ll get into that. Let me give you some warning signs and some rules you should follow if you ever find yourself in this pocket Hell. Please keep in mind, what you ABSOLUTELY must do if you want to survive.
Let me start with the landing.
Once someone boards a plane, everything will feel normal. You’ll have a snack, watch a movie, it doesn’t matter. Pay attention to how long your flight is. ALWAYS pay attention to how long it is.
That’s the only sign that you’re about to end up here. If a flight is supposed to be 5-10 hours but you arrive ten minutes earlier, that’s not an issue. It’s not something as minuscule as being five minutes earlier. But if you arrive one, two or even three hours earlier than expected then something is wrong.
Once you notice you’ve arrived way earlier than you’re supposed to, do not panic. Do not fight it, you are locked out. You have to enter this airport. A clear way to know if you’re going to get stuck, like I am, is to look at the stewardesses’ faces.
Two beautiful plane stewardesses, typically a blonde and a brunette, will be near the exit of the plane, waving you off with farewells, and “Thanks for flying with our company” blah blah blah.
Notice their faces. The same pattern repeats over and over.
One will have a massive fake smile and the other will be crying.
Don’t be surprised by how quickly people will start getting off the plane. Calmly and quickly pick up your bags and leave.
DO NOT FIGHT ANYONE. Do not attempt to stay inside the plane.
Last time this happened to me, I saw it coming. I saw the crying blonde, wishing me a happy vacation in Boca and I immediately flipped. At that time, it was the fourth time I had found myself in this scenario. So, I ran back onto the plane.
It was at this point that both the staff and the rest of the passengers started to work together to grab me and push me off the plane. It doesn’t matter how strong or fast or great you think you are. You will not be able to outfight or outmaneuver fifty people in a small, confined space who want you gone.
I was kicked off the plane with a black eye and a sprained ankle. That was last year.
Don’t do what I did. Don’t fight. Just peacefully and calmly leave.
You’ll be overpowered by even a couple of grandmas with the help of a normal dude.
Now let’s talk about the “airport” and people of interest.
Once you’re in, that’s it, you’re in it for the long haul. Don’t despair, don’t panic. Go to the designated waiting room after customs, and wait it out there.
When you pass through customs, DO NOT ask any questions. The “man” will simply ask you if you’re there for “work” or “pleasure”.
Either DO NOT respond or simply state.
“I’ll be here for just a bit.”
That’s it. Do not make small talk, do not ask where you are.
The more questions you ask, the longer you have to stay in the airport. When I got trapped the second time, I had to stay there for fifteen hours.
Just don’t talk to him.
A brisk “I’ll be here for just a bit” or any variation of that phrase will land you a quick 15-to-50-minute stay in the airport.
And now you’re in.
Walk calmly and quietly into the middle of the airport and into the main lobby. There will be “people” walking around you apparently going about their day. Do not talk to them. They do not have your best interests at heart. If you can even find any that speak any human languages.
Once you’re in the middle of the lobby you’ll find a small rolling mat where your luggage is supposed to come from. The linoleum floors will be unnaturally clean, it will smell of nothing but feel “stuffy”, like not enough air comes in.
The airport resembles something plucked from the 1990s more than anything from the current day. All the TV sets are old CRT monitors and whatever channel is on will be largely gibberish. Avoid looking at them since there’s nothing of worth on.
The area reeks of oppressive normality. Like it’s trying too hard to look average.
The only thing worth noticing is that the large conveyor belt that brings in your luggage. I’ll get to that in a bit. First, you’ll have to look out for a certain character. Sit down and wait for your time at the airport to be over.
DO NOT check your watch, or any time displaying device. And once a man who looks like some 1950s detective comes up to you to ask what time it is. DO NOT RESPOND.
There is a large scar on my right hand as a consequence of ignoring that rule.
The first time I came to this God-forsaken place, that man came up to me. Called himself the “Ferryman”. Short, annoying, sounded Italian, like from the Bronx or something. I asked him where I was and he refused to answer. Just kept asking the same thing over and over again.
“What time is it?” he’d repeat.
Who fucking cares about the time? I wanted to know where the fuck I was.
After repeatedly asking me the same thing over and over again I finally relented.
I… didn’t even see it. It was so fast. I just felt a burning sensation on my arm as the skin around started bleeding red.
He cut me.
So fast and so cleanly that I barely felt it. The cut was deep, I screamed.
I quickly jumped away from the man. He just looked at me, smiling.
I have no idea who or what that man is. All I know is that every time I find myself back here, I ignore him, and you should too.
There’s something very pernicious about him. Something that’s wrong. It’s not just the fact that he cut me, that’s obvious. It’s the fact that he did it so effortlessly. Like, I’m butter to him. He looks at me like he knows. And I know it too. The primal instinct of a cornered animal. Something that is about to become prey.
He could kill me without breaking a sweat.
But he chooses not to. Or maybe he can’t? I don’t know. It’s like he’s asking for permission, like his eyes are begging for consent to do more.
I’d rather not think about it too much. Just don’t talk to him.
Next up, “fakes”.
I would like to preface this part of my explanation by highlighting a certain type of… entities I’ve encountered in the airport, that I feel deserves special attention.
I’m not sure how to say this, but out of all the times I’ve been stuck in this fucking airport, there’s one event that I can’t actually confirm was real or not. I might just be losing my mind at this point.
When I first came to this airport, I wasn’t alone. I was with my wife.
We were both going to travel to Europe. We packed our bags and left, when we arrived sooner than expected that’s when our Hell started. I was inexperienced at the time, and although I talked to the customs man when I shouldn’t have, and I told the “ferryman” the time, there was also one person besides me and my wife at the airport. Someone I recognized.
My grandma was at the airport. Like my dead grandma. Dead for fifteen years now.
I couldn’t really believe it, and as I approached her, she didn’t speak. She just stood quietly.
“Grandma?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She just stood still.
“Nan?” I repeated.
She turned to me.
“Come. Let’s go board the plane, honey.”
What the fuck was she on about? What plane?
I realized there was an archway that led to a boarding zone. Boarding zone A-1. She probably meant going there to board a plane.
I tried to tell her that I wasn’t coming and tried to tell her not to go as well. She just ignored me and went on her own. I should have appreciated my instincts when I decided to walk away.
It really didn’t make sense. Boarding zone A-1? It was my first time there but I didn’t want to board some random plane.
I can’t explain why I think that wasn’t my grandma, besides the obvious fact that she’s dead. It’s… different when you see someone that’s not supposed to be alive. It’s surreal. You don’t really believe it’s fake.
But something else was off. I only realized it later.
The “detective-looking” monster, the customs guy, the weird janitor with one arm, and everything or everyone that resembles people in that clusterfuck of a place. Everyone, everything that inhabited that hellscape, was afraid.
They were afraid of her.
I don’t understand what insane, impossible thing would ever make these… these creatures afraid of anything. But I’m not going to risk finding out. Not now, not ever.
These things are fake. They’re not real people. I suspect they take the shape of people you love or people you lost. I’m not sure.
Like I said it’s only happened once. But be aware.
Ever since that day, I haven’t seen boarding zone in here again.
And lastly, the luggage and the bathroom.
So, to finish my warning, I’ll end with the most dangerous elements of this entire area. This post is long so if you take anything from it, take this.
Don’t pick up your luggage. Don’t even go near it.
That is not luggage. That is not an inanimate object.
DO NOT TOUCH IT.
They are very good at mimicking your luggage. Don’t try to interact with it, don’t reach out or try to get a better look. It doesn’t matter if it looks like your bag; believe me, it’s not.
It's difficult enough getting all this down. I hope you have some sympathy, it’s quite hard to type on a keyboard with only seven fingers.
And I’m not mentioning this for no reason. I wasn’t born with seven fingers. I lost them.
My luggage took my fingers.
I… I’ll spare you the details. But I hope you understand why I opened my post talking about the luggage.
And now comes the hard part.
Damn it.
If you recall, when I first came to this airport, I wasn’t alone. I was with my wife.
I was… with my wife.
There’s a bathroom, off to the side, which has the stereotypical women’s symbol (a stick figure wearing some sort of dress). It’s obviously the women’s bathroom. Or at least, it was the first time I was there with my wife.
It changed. Whenever I’m alone, it’s always the men’s bathroom. I can tell because there are now basically two men’s bathrooms in this airport now.
I… She wanted to cry, I think. We’d been stuck in the airport for ten hours by that point. There are no outside doors in here and if you try to go back to the airport runway, you will be tackled by security.
We thought we were stuck here forever. She just… She wanted some time to be alone with her thoughts.
I saw it. I saw her standing in front of that fucking door. Just standing still. Arm stretched out, holding the handle.
I just… I don’t know why I didn’t stop her. It was like she was hypnotized.
That door pulls you in somehow. I can’t quite describe it. She wanted time to process.
She went in. Didn’t say a word, not a peep.
She was there for fifty minutes, before I walked up to the door. I asked if she was alright. I called for her.
I knocked on that door for minutes. I slammed my arms against it. I felt my body pushing against me, everything screaming as I tried to push further in. Like every cell in my body was crying out to leave. But when I finally gathered enough strength and was about to go in, a security guard stopped me.
I was yelling at this point, trying to get in. He just turned to me and said:
“That’s the women’s restroom. You can’t go in.”
I…I… To this day I don’t understand what happened. What happened to me, what happened to my wife. I just don’t know.
I couldn’t move.
I was stuck there, in front of that door, paralyzed. My brain screaming to storm in and get Linda back, but the rest of my body was not complying. I stood there for fifty minutes, shaking and crying.
And then I was back.
Back at the regular airport, back in the real world.
I won’t disclose much more of what happened… Security had to drag me out of the airport afterwards.
I never saw my wife again.
This was five years ago. Yet somehow, in some fucked up way, I keep finding myself back here. To this hellhole. The place that took Linda from me. I never found my wife again, even when I return here. But this place, this Hell keeps finding me.
Don’t go to the bathroom. Piss on the ground if you have to.
Fuck this place.
I’m sitting down. It’s been almost three hours. Shouldn’t have told the customs guy to “fuck off” I suppose. But yeah, I guess that’s it. After your time is up, you return to the real world.
Hopefully you can make it out without losing half of your hand like I did.
I’ll sign off soon. It’s becoming like a routine at this point. Goddamn place, I just wait here. I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m cold. And I’m not falling for this thing’s tricks anymore.
I’m alone here, it’s just me and some woman across the room.
I should be getting out soon.
Edit 1:
I’m back at a normal airport. Thank God.
Just wanted to give a heads-up that everything is fine. I’m out of that place, and I’m back here. So, I wanted to leave this post up just to…
Wait hold on, is that the woman that was with me?
Wait… why is she coming closer?
What? Is that?
Linda!?
Edit 2:
It’s been five hours.
I talked to my wife; I’m still processing this. The shock, the happiness, the confusion. I asked her where she’s been all these years.
Suspended time, she tells me. Says time was different for her; it felt like a few days at best. I’m just… I’m scared to be happy. This feels like a dream. Like something impossible.
I’m waiting for her so we can go back home. I didn’t mention this, but I was on a connecting flight before this happened. Just one more flight until I get home. So now, I guess I’m going back home, with my wife.
What the hell? I can’t stop smiling. My eyes hurt from crying.
I guess we can talk more back home. I’m still processing what’s happening. I can’t believe I’m back in the real world and she’s here with me.
I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go. She went ahead to deal with our tickets. Where’s the boarding area?
Right. So yeah, I’ll leave my warning here. I’m actually still shell-shocked. I’ll still leave this post up still as a warning. I don’t want anyone to suffer the same fate as me. Happy ending or not.
Oh, right, I’m supposed to go to boarding zone A. And the number is… one.
So again, if your flight arrives earlier than expected, watch out for the signs. Hopefully it just won’t happen.
And hopefully, this is the last plane I board in my life. I’ll check on this post later when I land. Good luck.
Oh, hold on, my wife is coming back.
Okay, I was told we’re going.
She just told me:
“Come. Let’s go board the plane, honey.”
#entertainment
source
WARNING!
Please, if you read this and you’re at an airport. DO NOT PICK UP YOUR LUGGAGE.
If you arrive earlier than expected, don’t pick it up! I’m serious. Please believe me. I’m currently at an airport, stuck in these… loop things that keep fucking happening. This goes out as a lifeline to anyone who finds themselves in the same situation as me. Or anyone who ever decides to travel by plane.
My name is… Just call me Chris. And this isn’t the first time this has happened to me.
If you’re confused, let me explain. If you arrive earlier than you’re supposed to when you travel by air. You did not arrive at your destination.
You are not at an airport.
It may look like an airport, it may feel like an airport, but I can guarantee you it’s not. It’s some fucked up liminal space where nothing makes sense and if you do the wrong thing, well… I’ll get into that. Let me give you some warning signs and some rules you should follow if you ever find yourself in this pocket Hell. Please keep in mind, what you ABSOLUTELY must do if you want to survive.
Let me start with the landing.
Once someone boards a plane, everything will feel normal. You’ll have a snack, watch a movie, it doesn’t matter. Pay attention to how long your flight is. ALWAYS pay attention to how long it is.
That’s the only sign that you’re about to end up here. If a flight is supposed to be 5-10 hours but you arrive ten minutes earlier, that’s not an issue. It’s not something as minuscule as being five minutes earlier. But if you arrive one, two or even three hours earlier than expected then something is wrong.
Once you notice you’ve arrived way earlier than you’re supposed to, do not panic. Do not fight it, you are locked out. You have to enter this airport. A clear way to know if you’re going to get stuck, like I am, is to look at the stewardesses’ faces.
Two beautiful plane stewardesses, typically a blonde and a brunette, will be near the exit of the plane, waving you off with farewells, and “Thanks for flying with our company” blah blah blah.
Notice their faces. The same pattern repeats over and over.
One will have a massive fake smile and the other will be crying.
Don’t be surprised by how quickly people will start getting off the plane. Calmly and quickly pick up your bags and leave.
DO NOT FIGHT ANYONE. Do not attempt to stay inside the plane.
Last time this happened to me, I saw it coming. I saw the crying blonde, wishing me a happy vacation in Boca and I immediately flipped. At that time, it was the fourth time I had found myself in this scenario. So, I ran back onto the plane.
It was at this point that both the staff and the rest of the passengers started to work together to grab me and push me off the plane. It doesn’t matter how strong or fast or great you think you are. You will not be able to outfight or outmaneuver fifty people in a small, confined space who want you gone.
I was kicked off the plane with a black eye and a sprained ankle. That was last year.
Don’t do what I did. Don’t fight. Just peacefully and calmly leave.
You’ll be overpowered by even a couple of grandmas with the help of a normal dude.
Now let’s talk about the “airport” and people of interest.
Once you’re in, that’s it, you’re in it for the long haul. Don’t despair, don’t panic. Go to the designated waiting room after customs, and wait it out there.
When you pass through customs, DO NOT ask any questions. The “man” will simply ask you if you’re there for “work” or “pleasure”.
Either DO NOT respond or simply state.
“I’ll be here for just a bit.”
That’s it. Do not make small talk, do not ask where you are.
The more questions you ask, the longer you have to stay in the airport. When I got trapped the second time, I had to stay there for fifteen hours.
Just don’t talk to him.
A brisk “I’ll be here for just a bit” or any variation of that phrase will land you a quick 15-to-50-minute stay in the airport.
And now you’re in.
Walk calmly and quietly into the middle of the airport and into the main lobby. There will be “people” walking around you apparently going about their day. Do not talk to them. They do not have your best interests at heart. If you can even find any that speak any human languages.
Once you’re in the middle of the lobby you’ll find a small rolling mat where your luggage is supposed to come from. The linoleum floors will be unnaturally clean, it will smell of nothing but feel “stuffy”, like not enough air comes in.
The airport resembles something plucked from the 1990s more than anything from the current day. All the TV sets are old CRT monitors and whatever channel is on will be largely gibberish. Avoid looking at them since there’s nothing of worth on.
The area reeks of oppressive normality. Like it’s trying too hard to look average.
The only thing worth noticing is that the large conveyor belt that brings in your luggage. I’ll get to that in a bit. First, you’ll have to look out for a certain character. Sit down and wait for your time at the airport to be over.
DO NOT check your watch, or any time displaying device. And once a man who looks like some 1950s detective comes up to you to ask what time it is. DO NOT RESPOND.
There is a large scar on my right hand as a consequence of ignoring that rule.
The first time I came to this God-forsaken place, that man came up to me. Called himself the “Ferryman”. Short, annoying, sounded Italian, like from the Bronx or something. I asked him where I was and he refused to answer. Just kept asking the same thing over and over again.
“What time is it?” he’d repeat.
Who fucking cares about the time? I wanted to know where the fuck I was.
After repeatedly asking me the same thing over and over again I finally relented.
I… didn’t even see it. It was so fast. I just felt a burning sensation on my arm as the skin around started bleeding red.
He cut me.
So fast and so cleanly that I barely felt it. The cut was deep, I screamed.
I quickly jumped away from the man. He just looked at me, smiling.
I have no idea who or what that man is. All I know is that every time I find myself back here, I ignore him, and you should too.
There’s something very pernicious about him. Something that’s wrong. It’s not just the fact that he cut me, that’s obvious. It’s the fact that he did it so effortlessly. Like, I’m butter to him. He looks at me like he knows. And I know it too. The primal instinct of a cornered animal. Something that is about to become prey.
He could kill me without breaking a sweat.
But he chooses not to. Or maybe he can’t? I don’t know. It’s like he’s asking for permission, like his eyes are begging for consent to do more.
I’d rather not think about it too much. Just don’t talk to him.
Next up, “fakes”.
I would like to preface this part of my explanation by highlighting a certain type of… entities I’ve encountered in the airport, that I feel deserves special attention.
I’m not sure how to say this, but out of all the times I’ve been stuck in this fucking airport, there’s one event that I can’t actually confirm was real or not. I might just be losing my mind at this point.
When I first came to this airport, I wasn’t alone. I was with my wife.
We were both going to travel to Europe. We packed our bags and left, when we arrived sooner than expected that’s when our Hell started. I was inexperienced at the time, and although I talked to the customs man when I shouldn’t have, and I told the “ferryman” the time, there was also one person besides me and my wife at the airport. Someone I recognized.
My grandma was at the airport. Like my dead grandma. Dead for fifteen years now.
I couldn’t really believe it, and as I approached her, she didn’t speak. She just stood quietly.
“Grandma?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She just stood still.
“Nan?” I repeated.
She turned to me.
“Come. Let’s go board the plane, honey.”
What the fuck was she on about? What plane?
I realized there was an archway that led to a boarding zone. Boarding zone A-1. She probably meant going there to board a plane.
I tried to tell her that I wasn’t coming and tried to tell her not to go as well. She just ignored me and went on her own. I should have appreciated my instincts when I decided to walk away.
It really didn’t make sense. Boarding zone A-1? It was my first time there but I didn’t want to board some random plane.
I can’t explain why I think that wasn’t my grandma, besides the obvious fact that she’s dead. It’s… different when you see someone that’s not supposed to be alive. It’s surreal. You don’t really believe it’s fake.
But something else was off. I only realized it later.
The “detective-looking” monster, the customs guy, the weird janitor with one arm, and everything or everyone that resembles people in that clusterfuck of a place. Everyone, everything that inhabited that hellscape, was afraid.
They were afraid of her.
I don’t understand what insane, impossible thing would ever make these… these creatures afraid of anything. But I’m not going to risk finding out. Not now, not ever.
These things are fake. They’re not real people. I suspect they take the shape of people you love or people you lost. I’m not sure.
Like I said it’s only happened once. But be aware.
Ever since that day, I haven’t seen boarding zone in here again.
And lastly, the luggage and the bathroom.
So, to finish my warning, I’ll end with the most dangerous elements of this entire area. This post is long so if you take anything from it, take this.
Don’t pick up your luggage. Don’t even go near it.
That is not luggage. That is not an inanimate object.
DO NOT TOUCH IT.
They are very good at mimicking your luggage. Don’t try to interact with it, don’t reach out or try to get a better look. It doesn’t matter if it looks like your bag; believe me, it’s not.
It's difficult enough getting all this down. I hope you have some sympathy, it’s quite hard to type on a keyboard with only seven fingers.
And I’m not mentioning this for no reason. I wasn’t born with seven fingers. I lost them.
My luggage took my fingers.
I… I’ll spare you the details. But I hope you understand why I opened my post talking about the luggage.
And now comes the hard part.
Damn it.
If you recall, when I first came to this airport, I wasn’t alone. I was with my wife.
I was… with my wife.
There’s a bathroom, off to the side, which has the stereotypical women’s symbol (a stick figure wearing some sort of dress). It’s obviously the women’s bathroom. Or at least, it was the first time I was there with my wife.
It changed. Whenever I’m alone, it’s always the men’s bathroom. I can tell because there are now basically two men’s bathrooms in this airport now.
I… She wanted to cry, I think. We’d been stuck in the airport for ten hours by that point. There are no outside doors in here and if you try to go back to the airport runway, you will be tackled by security.
We thought we were stuck here forever. She just… She wanted some time to be alone with her thoughts.
I saw it. I saw her standing in front of that fucking door. Just standing still. Arm stretched out, holding the handle.
I just… I don’t know why I didn’t stop her. It was like she was hypnotized.
That door pulls you in somehow. I can’t quite describe it. She wanted time to process.
She went in. Didn’t say a word, not a peep.
She was there for fifty minutes, before I walked up to the door. I asked if she was alright. I called for her.
I knocked on that door for minutes. I slammed my arms against it. I felt my body pushing against me, everything screaming as I tried to push further in. Like every cell in my body was crying out to leave. But when I finally gathered enough strength and was about to go in, a security guard stopped me.
I was yelling at this point, trying to get in. He just turned to me and said:
“That’s the women’s restroom. You can’t go in.”
I…I… To this day I don’t understand what happened. What happened to me, what happened to my wife. I just don’t know.
I couldn’t move.
I was stuck there, in front of that door, paralyzed. My brain screaming to storm in and get Linda back, but the rest of my body was not complying. I stood there for fifty minutes, shaking and crying.
And then I was back.
Back at the regular airport, back in the real world.
I won’t disclose much more of what happened… Security had to drag me out of the airport afterwards.
I never saw my wife again.
This was five years ago. Yet somehow, in some fucked up way, I keep finding myself back here. To this hellhole. The place that took Linda from me. I never found my wife again, even when I return here. But this place, this Hell keeps finding me.
Don’t go to the bathroom. Piss on the ground if you have to.
Fuck this place.
I’m sitting down. It’s been almost three hours. Shouldn’t have told the customs guy to “fuck off” I suppose. But yeah, I guess that’s it. After your time is up, you return to the real world.
Hopefully you can make it out without losing half of your hand like I did.
I’ll sign off soon. It’s becoming like a routine at this point. Goddamn place, I just wait here. I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m cold. And I’m not falling for this thing’s tricks anymore.
I’m alone here, it’s just me and some woman across the room.
I should be getting out soon.
Edit 1:
I’m back at a normal airport. Thank God.
Just wanted to give a heads-up that everything is fine. I’m out of that place, and I’m back here. So, I wanted to leave this post up just to…
Wait hold on, is that the woman that was with me?
Wait… why is she coming closer?
What? Is that?
Linda!?
Edit 2:
It’s been five hours.
I talked to my wife; I’m still processing this. The shock, the happiness, the confusion. I asked her where she’s been all these years.
Suspended time, she tells me. Says time was different for her; it felt like a few days at best. I’m just… I’m scared to be happy. This feels like a dream. Like something impossible.
I’m waiting for her so we can go back home. I didn’t mention this, but I was on a connecting flight before this happened. Just one more flight until I get home. So now, I guess I’m going back home, with my wife.
What the hell? I can’t stop smiling. My eyes hurt from crying.
I guess we can talk more back home. I’m still processing what’s happening. I can’t believe I’m back in the real world and she’s here with me.
I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go. She went ahead to deal with our tickets. Where’s the boarding area?
Right. So yeah, I’ll leave my warning here. I’m actually still shell-shocked. I’ll still leave this post up still as a warning. I don’t want anyone to suffer the same fate as me. Happy ending or not.
Oh, right, I’m supposed to go to boarding zone A. And the number is… one.
So again, if your flight arrives earlier than expected, watch out for the signs. Hopefully it just won’t happen.
And hopefully, this is the last plane I board in my life. I’ll check on this post later when I land. Good luck.
Oh, hold on, my wife is coming back.
Okay, I was told we’re going.
She just told me:
“Come. Let’s go board the plane, honey.”
#entertainment
source
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