Chicago, Midway-As a group of unfortunate Southwest customers stood absently in line waiting to get cattle prodded and dragged onto the plane in a burlap sack, one diva was planning something far more nefarious.
Though a boarding pass indicated that Samantha Allen was nothing more than a B45 as a Southwest customer and in life, she disregarded the designation and inched her way up to board faster. A look of absolute privilege washed over her face as she tussled her hair in the reflection of her phone. Inarguably mediocre even amongst the horde of constipated trolls also waiting to board.
This very special little snow flake certainly deserved to sit in a fart filled winged sausage skin, she owed herself that much. She had earned that right by devolving past the already lowly moral compass of other drooling customers. The other customers would just have to deal with it.
She worked at an L.A. Tan in northern Indiana and sometimes did yoga after all, which certainly put her on a skid marked pedestal of ginger ale and crushed peanuts. She was a B35 that day even though her boarding pass indicated otherwise.