Who's a chump?

That would be me. On Saturday, I took a flight from Minneapolis to Chicago. I've flown gobs of times. I looked at my ticket. A14. Schlepped it down to the gate. It was really like the Siberia gate. When I arrived, nothing was there. It looked like what I think the Fargo airport might look like. I had misread the ticket. A14 was my seat. My gate was on the D concourse. Yes, I embrace my chumpness.

When I arrived at the gate the flight was boarding. A woman behind me was in the midst of a family crisis via telephone. Apparently, someone was really mad because Grandma came over to their new house but didn't go upstairs. "She's 87; she doesn't go upstairs anywhere!"

Thank you, thank you, I didn't sit next to a talker. The person behind me, however, did not have an unexpressed or inspired thought the entire flight. The man beside her had a blank/exasperated expression, "kill me now." When the plane touched down, with a huge thud and shake, she insightfully replied, "No one's sleeping now." As we drove up to the gate, she interestingly said, "I wonder how much those guys [the ground crew] make?"