I get into SFO and as a naive, optimistic 20 year-old, I’m all like “the airport is fun and shit” so I roll in with my rainbow carry-on luggage and swipe in with my mobile boarding pass and take out the minimum two laptops my generation needs to survive from my bag when I go through security. Then I get into the Virgin America gate area and I’m like “holy fucking shit, it looks like the future in here” because they have my favorite juice cleanse drinks and an Asian guy apathetically serving Pinkberry frozen yogurt and glowing purple signs lighting up each gate like discotechs.
I mean, I heard that Virgin was a “total fucking party” from one of my bros while we were kicking it watching Spongebob Squarepants and smoking flavored e-cigarettes, so I wasn’t that surprised. But then I told my mom that, and she told me that she’d flown Virgin, and she didn’t “remember any parties.”
But when I go to board the plane, I’m absolutely elated because my name is on the list. And the plane is lit up all purple and pink with trendy club music that makes me think I should ask the guy sitting next to me if he wants to go snort something trendy off the port-o-potty seat in the bathroom. This ain’t no podunk airline with cheap liquor and over-the-counter drugs — they’ve got the designer shit here.
Then they tell us that there’s some dude or chick that has a severe nut allergy so we should refrain from eating nuts. But Virgin makes it such a motherfucking party that we all cheer, put our nuts away, and instead pull out our bags of white sugar and form a line to get into the restroom.
The plane takes off and I think that that rumbling sound is from the engines but NO they just turned up the bass on the surround sound speaker system. The flight attendants tell everyone to get out of their seats and have a good time, so I start dancing erratically to whatever hip trance music is playing and accidentally slap a guy in the face with my outstretched arm, but it’s totally cool because he’s tripping on molly, whatever that is.
By the time we all get off the plane, we all know each other pretty well so there’s back-slapping and hand-shaking and the pilot’s passed out in the back so really we’re just lucky we landed. I totally get why my mom didn’t remember anything. On a scale of 1 to 10, I would give Virgin America a “would totally fly again”.
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