I’m sitting in the lobby of the Sherry Frontenac Hotel in Miami, listening to drunk pilots talk about getting whores in India. I guess now that they figured out how to do that, no one is calling in sick for those trips. I thought about going into the bar earlier but I heard too many drunk pilots acting like assholes so I kept away. The only person i like on my trip is this gay guy Richard but he, for some reason, is hanging out with the group of pilots talking about whores. I don’t see how this is fun for him. They’re standing around talking, just feet away from me while I’m trying to write. I was hoping they’d go back outside by the pool where they had been drinking, but they seem to be stuck in their tracks, right in the middle of the lobby, right behind where I’m sitting.
There are three older girls leaving the bar heading out to the pool so I bet that drives the drunk pilots out there. I’m praying so. It amazes me how pilots can talk and talk for hours about nothing other than the job. These guys are talking about some destinations we used to have on the 767 and what the currency exchange used to be. At least flight attendants know how to converse about other things, even if it’s just TV shows, People Magazine and movies. Pilots don’t know anything other than the airline, I guess because every other aspect of their lives are depressing as hell, alimonies and all. Yeah there are exceptions for sure, but you’d be shocked about how long they can go just talking about company bullshit, literally for years and never bore of it. Now they’re talking about hotels and commuting. Ugh, it gives me anxiety just listening to them. go away, go the fuck away!!!