If you’re that fu*ked in the head, then maybe you shouldn’t be on a plane with other people at 38000 feet. Talk to your shrink about other modes of transportation.
If I have not lived something personally, I’m generally polite enough to STFU about it because I don’t ~know~ what I’m talking about.
My dad, a Korean vet, never talked about his tour of duty.
All the photos he sent home were of himself, surrounded by smiling Korean kids, to whom he’d given all the candy his mother sent him weekly.
For years, I thought that was “what he did in the war”.
One of his brothers told me that in reality, he drove ordnance trucks to the front line.
My dad often lashed out irrationally at the smallest things.
He went to Korea a joking, funny, carefree guy and came home different.
Quiet and no longer carefree and often shockingly volatile.
He always said that you never know what the guy next to you has seen, and to take that into consideration, if they acted like jerks.
I assumed he was just dispensing Random Dad Wisdom...but now I think he was really talking about himself, in a roundabout way.
He saw things.
While I forgive your “f*cked in the head” rudeness, I’m guessing you have no daughters.
But if you do, I pray to God that what happened to me never happens to them because you’ll find out what “f*cked in the head” really is.
And I don’t fly, anyway.
Never have, never will.
I suppose I should be honored that I’m surrounded here by so many stone cold badasses who could acquire the emotional equivalent of a lifelong sucking chest wound and just laugh it off and crack open a beer.
You’re all my heroes.