10Selena and Life: Questionable Sanity
By: Suckerforaslowsong
Chapter 1: Aviatophobia
"Would you like some peanuts, Miss?" the flight attendant asked me, disturbing me from my moment of pure relaxation. I had tuned out the world with my mp3 player, leaned back in my seat, and closed my eyes. I cracked open an eye, and looked the stewardess straight in the eye. She had long blond hair, big blue eyes, and red, juicy lips. Damn her. "I'm allergic to nuts." I deadpanned simply. I wasn't allergic to nuts, I had, in fact, snuck a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my carry-on bag.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Miss. I'll inform the rest of the staff not to offer you anything containing nuts." She said, apologizing profusely. I just nodded, over and over, and watched her walk away. She couldn't see that I was mentally damning her to the Land of Undeserving Beautiful People.
The sway of her hips as she walked must have created and earthquake, because the booty-vibrations were hitting the fat, balding guy in front of my in the face, cause his eyes to bulge and his forehead to sweat. You'd think the guy had never seen a woman before, jeez. I rolled my eyes dramatically, and then I heard a giggle from beside me,
"A pair of big breasts and he goes into cardiac arrest." The girl beside me said, smiling. I nodded,
"Yeah. He looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his eye sockets. That among other things." I said mumbling under my breath. She looked about my age, 17-ish, with long black hair and blue eyes. She was really pretty, but I hadn't decided if she was undeserving or not.
"I get what you mean. My name is Paige." She said, holding out a sparkly pink nail polish adorned hand. I shook it firmly, and smiled back. She was of French background, and I could tell because of her voice. It was slightly accented.
"My name's Selena. So why are you going to London?" I asked her. She looked away, and mumbled something about it not being important. I guess she didn't want to talk about it, so I dropped the subject. I didn't really want to tell her all about my parents, their safari, and why I was pissed at them. "So…where are you from?"
She laughed at me, "Where do you think I'm from? I'm leaving from Pierre Elliot Trudeau Airport in Montreal, aren't I?" She looked at me like I was stupid…
Well, what if she was transferring from like, Quebec City or something? How was I supposed to know? "Right, I didn't think of that," I answered anyways.
We continued to exchange little bits of information with each other, then I went to sleep. Exciting day, huh? But before I knew it, the pilot's voice came onto the intercom,
"We will be landing at Heathrow airport in approximately ten minutes. Please collect your belongings after the plane has fully landed. Please fasten you seatbelts, and we hope that you have enjoyed flying Air Canada."
I fastened my seatbelt, but not before putting my black and red Chuck Taylors back on. I can't walk off the plane without my shoes on.
I really hate airplanes. If I haven't mentioned it before, then I will now. I especially hate airplane food. Luke-warm Mac and Cheese never settles well with your stomach on an instable metal box. I wonder what kind of food the first class people get…I was flying economy.
The airplane started to descend slowly, and I gripped my armrests tightly. My ears began to pop uncomfortably as we headed toward the runway.
Did I mention that I hate airplanes?
I did?
Well, let me do it again.
I hate airplanes.
Now that I have that out of my system, I can get off this godforsaken machine and on to…
What's that?
SOLID GROUD?!
MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I picked up my bag, and checked the seat to make sure that I hadn't forgotten anything. I didn't, so I walked carefully down the narrow hallway, and down the stairs. I could hear Paige's four-inch hooker heals clicking whoreishly behind me. As soon as I spotted the lovely asphalt, I think I went crazy. I did a little dance and had a roaring party in my mind.
"Don't like planes much do you?" Paige asked, smirking lightly. I did not appreciate being teased, and I didn't appreciate her comment. I looked at her in a 'what the do you think?' manner. "Don't like being teased either, I take it."
"Not really. Not about this." I replied testily. Over the plane ride, Paige had become increasingly annoying with every moment that we spoke. Now, I know that I'm no piece of cake, but this girl was terrible. Nice at first, but then once you get talking…she just radiates bitch. She was very much a spoiled little rich kid.
I walked into the terminal. It was very big, and full of people. Like an overflowing mall on Boxing Day. Very frightening. Once I had admitted to myself that I was lost, and didn't know where to pick up my baggage, get a taxi or how to find a bathroom (I dearly had to pee), I decided to find the nearest airport employee, and ask them where the hell to go. I searched the terminal and area around it for a person who looked like they knew where they were going, and finally spotted a nice woman to ask where to go,
"Excuse me, how do you get to baggage pick-up?"
The woman directed me to the right, "Just follow the rest of the passengers, dear. They're queuing up now." I smiled and muttered quiet thanks. Ha! She said queuing! You know you're in England when…
Twenty-five minutes later, I had finally ditched Paige, gotten my baggage, and was waiting outside the airport, trying to flag down a taxi. Was I invisible? Nobody was stopping! I just want to sleep…urgh. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to, seeing as it was five in the morning, and I would be arriving at the school around 6-ish. And that's if I could get a bloody taxi! Yay! Let's get into the English spirit! Daddy would be proud.
I stuck out my hand once again, and snapped my fingers, though I doubt that it helped. Finally, a cab drove over. I began lifting my suitcase as the trunk popped open. The driver grabbed my bags from my hands and practically tossed them into the trunk. Not only was he very strong, he was incredibly rude as well. I spend ten minutes trying to flag down a cab, and the only one I get has an asshole as a driver. Just my luck. Watch him over-charge me. Watch him.
"Where to?" he asked as I sat in the back seat of his cab.
"Umm…" I started looking through my pockets to find the scrap of paper that I had written the address on, "1563 North Cunningham, please."
He grunted in reply, and sped off. He was going really fast. If I live through this car ride, I will stop bitching about going to an almost-all-boys-boarding-school. I swear it.