Recently, I was on an airplane. I had to write this post in order to distract myself from the horrors.
This flight is like a doctor’s office waiting room in the heart of Mumbai during a plague outbreak. It’s May; cold and flu season is far behind us and yet the last twenty-five people to get sick are in rows 10-18. I’m in 11 so I have no chance at avoiding the projectile germs being hurled in my direction over the four hours of flight time. I wonder if there is any Clorox bleach on board that I can gargle with? Or maybe the blue toilet water would work?
There’s turbulence. Luckily, I’m on the window, which is my preferred seat. I hope I don’t have to pee though, because the amount of flubber that would have to be moved to get past the giants next to me might require a unionized crew. (I’m fat to, so cool it with the “fat-shaming” complaints) I’m worried about the integrity of the bolts holding this row of seats in place. With every turbulent jerk of the plane my row jiggles like a new flavor being highlighted in a Jell-O commercial.
The guy next to me is sneezing. The guy in front of me is coughing. Behind me is an orchestra of hacks and gurgles that would puzzle even the savviest of doctors. Pleasure flight.
The drink service begins and my brain temporarily quits wondering which part of this giant cocktail of germs is going to infect me. The schlub on the isle fills his tray table with “Meioma” Pinot Noir. I think that’s Italian for skin cancer. Like you do, he’s added ice to his voluptuous red. Not to be out done, the hairy Indian fellow in the center seat got a Jack and water. Nothing wrong there except he paired it with the $9.00 “Asian-chicken salad.” Again, that is fine, but he ate the salad without the dressing and then spooned the dressing into his mouth like some sort of deranged Paul Newman. It took all my strength to hold down my ginger ale.
Cough, sneeze, cough, sneeze… I wish US Air had a “Bubble Boy” costume for purchase. I’m taking sips of breath like I’m trapped in an airtight bank vault with a limited air supply. I am comfortable, though, because the salad-dressing-is-soup man’s hairy armpit is resting softly on my arm like some disgusting elbow Snuggie.
The flight attendants are gorgeous. I mean knockout. I mean they are really Sports Illustrated swimsuit models participating in a social experiment posing as flight attendants. It is just like the old, sexist days. I wasn’t alive then, but I feel as though I’m there now. This is definitely easing the stress caused by the haze of hair and expelled germs swarming me. It’s nice when they walk down the isle, but the guy in the center seat has fallen asleep with his arms on his head. So if I follow the attendants with my eyes, as they get parallel to our row, I’m shocked back into reality with a face-to-armpit cold shower.
That’s about it for the flight. It’s not the worst I’ve ever been on, but it was close. No real fault of the airline, just the gross people that happened to all be on the same plane. Lucky me. I would however like to take an unpopular position regarding the TSA. Can we give these people a break? I know there have been horror stories, but for the most part, I think they do a pretty good job. Their regulations can be obnoxious but that’s not the fault of the checkpoint workers. The people we should be blaming are the ones who love to complain about the TSA during the screening process. It does zero good to argue with these people, so stop it! The airlines are to blame as for charging for checked bags. Now everyone carries everything on the plane, which makes security take that much longer. We all know the procedure by now, so get your shoes off, send your bags through the machine, expose yourself to a little radiation and be quiet. It sucks for everyone; you’re not special.
I especially enjoyed being behind a woman who had about eight trays worth of crap she had to take off. After we got through the x-ray, she stopped on the other side of it and made everyone wait while she reassembled her wardrobe, holding the rest of earth up. I’m sure the lady behind me with only one arm appreciated the extra inconvenience.
I know it’s hacky to bitch about air travel, but I did it anyway. Airlines are only flying 300 people and all their flab and junk 2500 miles, thousands of times a day; you’d think we cut them some slack. Nah.