Everything Happens While You Are Waiting.

It was a genuine convocation of bros in Row 13 on the Skywest regional jet serving the 28 minute flight between Salt Lake City and Idaho Falls. They occupied the entire row which must have taken some committed advance booking or the serious cashing in of SkyMiles to accomplish, but bros will not be parted and their commitment to shoring up one another's crushing insecurities had to be recognized. 

They made a decent enough spectacle of themselves in the departure area so I knew that it was genuine bro-ey-ness and not merely generalized drunkenness. This was both alarming and fascinating at the same time. Wherever they came from or wherever they are going boisterousness was the theme and  since it wasn't a screaming child or otherwise interfering with my audiobook I could dig.

I seem to be entering that stage of my life where no matter what I do or however much I plan or think about it I am going to be seated by, behind or otherwise near someone I would otherwise not like to be. The hum of aircraft engines puts me to sleep like a lullaby so it generally matters not, but it was a bumpy ride.

Heads, all capped with souvenirs from golf tournaments or destination fishing weekends bobbed in the clear-air turbulence. I was captivated by the pair directly in front of me and how close their heads would become while they spoke to one another in their unmistakable deep bass bro-laden tones. The one in front of me had traces of a not too-south southern accent. Probably central Missouri. He had the confidence to wear pastels but only when there were enough pockets to announce that he was a man of gadgetry before anything else.

They were both accomplished lip readers because their masks would have to come off in order for them to truly commiserate on their fearsome bromance. I tried to pretend to still be sleeping, but I had taken maybe seven too many edibles and they had started to kick in and for all I know I was positively gaping at these two boys thinking we could probably be a few cocktails and poppers away from a cargo short orgy in the exit row.

But we all come back down to earth eventually, and I came back with a thud. While deplaning the bro with the disappearing Central Missouri twang noticed a woman opposite me in 14E and made a series of suggestive comments aimed primarily at his co-bros but undisguised to the casual listener. He made the bros opposite allow her to pass first so he could ogle her and comment to his bros about how much prettier she was than they were yuk yuk I think it goes like that. yuk.

She was underage or otherwise still fond of her high school soccer shirt. He wasn't a normally kinda decent guy that got slaughtered at the Ale House and becomes a part-time pig, but a pig. A pig in pig's clothing and that clothing included the already mentioned pastel tactical shirt and accessories like a wedding ring and gift for his kid. 

The young lady seems to have been prepared for this kind of thing and bounced like the exit was the touchline. Bros don't pack light for a bro weekend and no overhead compartment of a regional jet can hope to hold everything they need to make the dream work so they were all clustered at the jetway waiting for their rolling luggage. Bro guns are for golfing and pretend fishing not carrying luggage.

These four clowns might as well have been a Chorus Line Singing "Welcome Back To Idaho You Lucky Dog!' Long term parking is in the next county and your parent's Subaru look a lot like all the other Subarus.