Middle
So I’m flying from Houston to Detroit. I haven’t traveled much in the last couple of years, so I’ve lost all of the perks of being an Elite Member. Perks like exit row seating and… we’ll that’s pretty much it. Instead I sat in 18B. That’s right, the middle.
On the window is one of those women who have way too much energy. Like she washed down a couple of lines of blow with a Red Bull. Talking loudly to herself, waiting for someone to bite on a conversation. I wasn’t having it.
Drink service comes by. After I get my cool refreshing Sierra Mist, I hear a peculiar thing…
“coffee, water no ice, orange juice.”
The flight attendant, perplexed, waited for her to make a decision. One wasn’t coming. She wanted all three. And for some reason, they met her demands.
“They took my water at the security gate, I’m so thirsty. Ha ha ha ha ha.”
I asked her if this was the first time she’d flown in a couple of years. No response. She was too busy chugging her trifecta of hydration.
Then she flags down a different flight attendant. “Can I have a water please?”
I put some Yellowcard on the MP3 player and laid my head back, hoping to escape this horrible reality. Now, my ability to sleep on a plane is somewhere between trying to sleep while awaiting the jury’s verdict and trying to sleep while a epileptic, blind, thumbless hooker is trimming the bush of your nether-regions.
But I did it.
I fell asleep.
Then a tap.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
Without hesitation, I replied “you’re f*cking kidding me, right?”
I had no other interaction with her for the rest of my flight, and I’m sure I’ll never see her again. But some little piece of me, deep down inside, really hopes she picked up Gonorrhea from that airplane pooper. –>