On the ground and down to clown

At some point, Jeff asked Jack if he was ready to do something. Which thing now escapes me, but Jack's answer stuck in my head. I'm down to clown. 

Well, I'm in Phoenix at the gate for my flight to DFW. I'm on the ground and down to clown. I gate-checked my larger bag, so I will actually have to make my way to a baggage carousel when I get back to my own time zone. It's actually pretty convenient, though. I didn't have to wheel a bag down the narrow plane walkway, nor did I have to pay to check the bag. The flight from Honolulu was so full that they acted like I was doing them a favor when then waived the $25 checked bag fee. 

The folks in my row on the way here were quiet, normal sized, and had good armrest etiquette- quite a treat. Lest my faith in humanity be too fully restored, at the terminal, typical traveller behavior returns. I am sitting on the floor near an electrical outlet so I can charge my phone. There is one chair adjacent. A fat kid who looks about eight is sitting there with his very fancy laptop and his $200 headphones. His parents are blissfully unaware that their fat kid should have the manners to offer a seat to a nearly-40-year-old on the ground- not that I would actually accept. 

It's okay, though. I'm on the ground and down to clown.