So there I am on the plane, the ultimate petri dish of personality, bacteria and weirdness. I have taken the last available seat, according to the agent at the counter, and I believe her. Middle seat, bulkhead, stare at the wall separating the rats from the royalty in first class. I think I am the last person to get on this flight from Maui to Portland, and I can‘t believe my luck. The window seat is still open. The attendants do their final counts and say the door is closing…and then he arrives. Window seat, row 6.
He hustles in, late for everything in his entire life, you can tell. Smiling, greeting everyone around him and still on the phone. The rest of us rats have darkened Kindles and are reading the in-flight 60 page advert mag for Spokane, Washington. He climbs in and proceeds to torture me all the way home.
1. Pulls out greasy, cold broken chicken breast sandwich, holds it under my nose and offers me a bite. I am not kidding. Laughs when I say, no thanks, takes a bite and offers again. Still not kidding.
2. Starts…starts a phone call as we are taxiing for take-off. I am not a rules guy and I do not believe that my cell phone call derails an airplane anymore than I believe it can turn off an anesthesia machine in the operating room. What bugs me is that even though this guy is seriously irritating everyone around him, or maybe just me, the flight attendants walk by and smile and seem to find him invisible. He is taking odds on the superbowl with a guy in Denver. Whatever.
3. We get our little cups of passion-orange-guava juice (Hawaii flight, don‘t forget) in our little plastic cups and we are all balancing them in the little circle in the tray table. I get through one sip and Window seat, row 6 makes the move to get up. “Sorry mate, bathroom?”
4. Asks me to lend him money for a beer. Actually wants me to put the beer on my credit card because he doesn‘t have one, I mean it doesn‘t work, I mean I don‘t like to use it, I mean, it is expired. Gave me all those answers when I simply repeated, “Really, you don‘t have a credit card?” Attendant comes up to ask if we want our second cup of P-O-G and he pulls out a fiver and looks like a puppy at me. Beers are a sixer however and I now get the grift. Nice. No dice dude.
5. Finally he falls asleep and proceeds to have a conversation with, what I assume was, the demon infecting his brain during waking hours. I wake him up. “Sorry dude”. Repeat.
I did not take my shoe off and blow up the plane with my stand-by shoe bomb, but I was close. Middle seat is bad enough, but this guy had my number. Dialed in.
Being away from work was great. Needed the break. We went everywhere and spent lots of time doing nothing. I did however have time to look up a tree‘s dress which is probably the sign of good rest.