1. A machine that has wings and an engine and that flies through the air. – Merriam-Webster1
2. Enjoy the next several hours of sardine hell. – The Nut
One of the best reasons to get married is that you don’t have to sit next to strangers on airplanes anymore.
Some people on planes are the outgoing type who enjoy striking up a friendly conversation with whatever random person they’re currently fighting for dominance over an armrest with. I like to call these people “weirdos I have nothing in common with”.
I know it’s not their fault. They’re just trying to be nice.
But I don’t want nice. I want to be left the fuck alone. And at some point in time the universe figured this out and decided to stop sticking me next to the well-meaning friendlies of the world, because clearly they deserve better.
But the universe also enjoys screwing with me too much to consider seating me beside someone like-minded who will happily respect my personal space and boundaries, so instead I almost invariably get stuck next to some insufferable breed of creep and/or twatschnitzel.
It’s kind of my superpower.
There was the businessman who tried to hit on my 13-year-old self the entire way to Hawaii, while my parents were sitting directly in front of us. Fun for all ages.
Not to mention the trophy wife on the flight back, who decided that the captain turning off the seat belt sign was her cue to bring out the whore red Sally Hansen and start in on a toxic 2-coat manicure-slash-fumigation, because a flying tin can with no ventilation was logically a much better environment in which to do this than the hotel rooms we’d been put up in during our flight’s 14 1/2 hour delay.
And let us not forget the middle-aged crankypants on my first flight to the UK, who got huffy when I strategically angled my book to stop her from reading (and breathing) over my shoulder, and then objected at top volume to the flight crew when my pre-ordered vegetarian meal was served to me before the regular meals got handed out. How was it fair that some child, she lamented (I was 25), should be served before her elders just because she was picky about her food? Oh, the humanity!
Tripped on, stepped on, slept on, belched on; bruised and battered and belittled. Such was my life at thirty to forty thousand feet.
But now I’m married. To a wonderful man I lovingly think of, when we’re traveling, as the Amazing Buffer Zone-o-matic 3000.
Nutty Hubby is much more patient a person than I am. Nutty Hubby is much more tolerant of being elbowed and coughed on and talked to and looked at and all the other things humans do to other humans that make me stabby. Nutty Hubby does not conjure up elaborate murder fantasies at the sounds of open-mouth chewing or the vibrations of restless legs.
Which is why he gets to weather the asshole storm while I take shelter on his lee side.
I used to feel guilty about always taking the window seat wherever we went. Leaving him open to the crazies and the unhygienics and the Abandon All Manners Ye Who Enter Here rudeniks. But he doesn’t complain.
Rather, he insists. He knows it’s for the greater good.
And we both know that orange really isn’t my color.
Today’s blog post was brought to you by the letter A, the number 40,000, and the Secure Your Own Oxygen Mask Before Assisting Others Challenge, AKA the Blogging A to Z Challenge.
1 “airplane.” Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, 2016. Web. 1 April 2016.