Let’s talk about airplanes. They are unpleasant. The air is stale, the bathrooms smell like poop and sweat, and there is no angle at which the seats are remotely comfortable. I also think they should offer free tequila…but I digress.
The last time I flew, I was on my way to San Francisco to present some research. I was traveling with a fellow student, but I didn’t get to sit by her for some reason. Instead, I was placed in the dreaded 3-seater side of the aisle. Between two women I’ll call Staresy and Fartinson.
When I got to my seat, Staresy was already there, in the window seat. I sat down and got out my iPod, anxiously awaiting the ‘ding’ that meant electronics were good to go. And then Fartinson walked up. She struggled to stuff her huge carryon into the overhead bin, while I was lodged between her…well you know. The grunting and puffing was making me uncomfortable. Finally she sat down.
After I had the okay to turn on my tunes, I was content. Until I noticed that my window-seated counterpart was staring at me. Watching my every move. If I changed the song on my iPod, she checked to see which one was next. If I decided to take a look at my raggedy issue of SkyMall, so did Staresy.
Meanwhile, to my right, Fartinson was starting to rumble. Something terrible was brewing. And a few minutes later, I smelled it. A few minutes later, I smelled it again. It was like one of those timed air fresheners set to go POOF every few minutes.
I hate planes. But here’s some proof that I made it okay (me by my research).