No good airborne deed goes unpunished
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Over at Wired, friend-of-the-blog John Brownlee shares a lament from his recent trans-Atlantic crossing on Aer Lingus.
I spent last night flying home to Dublin from Boston after a couple sleepless days of last minute drunken excess. I was seated next to a smelly motorcycle enthusiast in leather pants, who did nothing all flight long except stare directly at the seat in front of him without blinking. I found this very disconcerting, and asked him if he wanted something to read. “What ya got?” he asked. And that’s when I discovered that the only book I’d brought with me was Oscar Williams’ seminal anthology, Immortal Poems of the English Language, which prompted him to spend the rest of the flight muttering about me under his breath (”Seat 47H? More like Seat 47 HOMO!”*). Needless to say, I did not sleep well.
How neighborly. At least he wasn’t coughing or vomiting while making slurs. (Or heck, maybe he was.)
The worst I’ve sat next to was the body-odor guy and the chatterbox. I’ve gotten off easy, I realize.
Feel free to pepper the comments with stories of miserable seatmates. Get it off your chest.
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December 1st, 2006 at 9:52 am |
My least favorite seatmate ever was a middle-aged woman on a redeye flight from Las Vegas to Chicago. She fell asleep on the flight, as would be expected, but she started rubbing her bare foot up my leg. I kept squirming away, and the more I squirmed, the more she leaned towards me.
Also, she was reading the latest Bill O’Reilly book, which means she’s got a little somethin’ wrong in her brain.
My least favorite type of seatmate? Men who think they can’t sit without spreading their legs really, really, really wide open. Do they think their bits are going to get crushed during takeoff or something? What’s up with that? My husband couldn’t explain it to me. Can someon else?
December 1st, 2006 at 10:05 am |
I sat next to a guy on a flight to London who was flying on to India and he kept rattling on and on about Kingfisher Airlines and how it started off as a beer company. For hours and hours, he talked about the beer, and how he liked it so much. Like I gave a crap. I put on headphones and eyeshades, rolled over to turn my back toward him, and tried to sleep. He still kept jabbering about the damn brewer-turned-airline, and how Indian beer is so much better than American beer. At least he wasn’t hostile. Worst thing, he wasn’t sitting in his assigned seat. The flight attendant ahd let him move up from the back.