I needed to get off!
Tarmack for an hour. The screaming kid in front of me? Don’t get me started on that. And then the kid behind me decided to be Ringo Starr. Rhythmic kicks like a drum roll until someone mercifully said stop.
Grab the carry on and shove like hell.
“Ladies and gentlemen. We have an emergency of sorts.” Of sorts?
“A passenger’s wife is in labor. He’s trying to get there in time. Please remain in your seats until he’s left the plane.”
That’s it. No connection. Good luck buddy, I’ll remember that excuse for next time.
Word Count: 100 Completed for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s weekly flash fiction challenge: Friday Fictioneers. Photo credit for this week’s challenge: Michelle Greenwood.