I've been travelling a lot this summer and I've decided plane trips, when you travel alone, are like a turkey shoot! Duck, don't make eye contact with that greasy looking guy...he may...gulp; sit next to you!
When I was younger I know I enjoyed the mystery of a trip. My mom always said I was the last one off the plane with a string of good looking guys carrying my luggage. Since I lost the magic of innocent persuasion a while ago...I now want absolutes...like WHO THE HECK IS THAT PERSON SITTING NEXT TO ME!
The way they load planes now-a-days, you never know "what" or "WHO" will be seated next to you. It could be a Yeti, Mr Crisco, or something out of a tale by the Grimm brothers. The worst is when you bid on a ticket for one of the left over "not sold" seats you end up with 4-5 connections before you get to your destination. When you do that I can assure you that your fate will be the dreaded middle seat. Who ever decided that the three seat configuration was the way to go should be shot! I remember as a kid travelling by plane to New York each summer, and the planes had a two seats on each side thing going on...so at least one side of you could breathe, and not be crushed by a person sitting on each side. (Which seems to be my destiny)
Ahhh. "The Middle Seat". Who will get that seat???? It could be you, or if you are in a row without a couple to take two of the seats, you have to worry if you will be seated next to characters from an alien movie. Not fun. I have experienced both those situations when travelling to meetings and conferences for my school board position. I would have to travel alone as none of the other board members, (mostly men) had schedules that meshed with mine. Never the less, I pressed on...and was often squished in that middle seat by rotund passengers on each side of me.
Now if you take a good look at the arm rests of plane seats you will discover that under the arm rest there is an opening. Quite easy for the person sitting beside you to SLOP their adipose tissue through the opening and onto your lap. On one unfortunate trip I was the bologna in the sandwich of two large men who had lots of fat pushing into my side and onto my lap from both sides. I remember they were seated before I arrived and I almost cried when I saw them. After I was somewhat situated I looked for the seat belt, then I decided...no way was I going to fish around in the piles of tissue for the restraining device, and really there was no need as I was so packed into my seat I couldn't move if I wanted to...
I had my own dualie-air-bags, already deployed sitting on both sides of me. Interesting that the Stewardess seat belt-Nazi did not even notice or call to my attention to the fact that I was not...OH NO, can you even believe it?...NOT buckled. I guess she did not want to fish around for the seat belt either. So there I sat for 3 hours not able to move as both sets of shoulders extended into my space along with everything else,
and I was pinned there like a bug specimen ...unable to move.
On one of my recent trips two young teen boys had the middle and aisle seat while I had the window seat. Okay I thought not too bad. The one in the middle had not hit his growth spurt so there was no fighting for possession of space going on. I did notice however that the two parents were across the aisle...blissfully removed of parental duties. And they were also away from the unusual smell that began to waft toward me like a green cloud. They must have know the kids had eaten some sort of gaseous food the night before and that's why they abandoned the kids, emancipated them, so to speak...for as long as the flight, at least.
Within 15 minutes I was gasping for breath wishing the air bags would drop from the ceilling...for at very very frequent intervals various bowel eruptions produced a blasting hot wet-poopie smell. As my eyes began to tear-up, I gaged and cranked up my air-vent to full and had the stale recycled air hitting my face, then finally I leaned forward to breathe the air from between the seat in front of me and the window. I was doing all within my power to get some relief. I was wishing I could open the window. Of course that is ridiculous but by then I'm sure many brain cells had died, and all reason was lost.
So AHHHHH! The middle seat, If it is empty, it's Nirvana. Yes, the vacant middle seat is the wish of all who travel alone. We hold our breath (even without air cheese happening) pray, and await the closing of the cabin door. We lone passengers are dreading the arrival of the third in the row to spoil our flight, our air, our space, our brain cells, or our sanity.
When I was younger I know I enjoyed the mystery of a trip. My mom always said I was the last one off the plane with a string of good looking guys carrying my luggage. Since I lost the magic of innocent persuasion a while ago...I now want absolutes...like WHO THE HECK IS THAT PERSON SITTING NEXT TO ME!
The way they load planes now-a-days, you never know "what" or "WHO" will be seated next to you. It could be a Yeti, Mr Crisco, or something out of a tale by the Grimm brothers. The worst is when you bid on a ticket for one of the left over "not sold" seats you end up with 4-5 connections before you get to your destination. When you do that I can assure you that your fate will be the dreaded middle seat. Who ever decided that the three seat configuration was the way to go should be shot! I remember as a kid travelling by plane to New York each summer, and the planes had a two seats on each side thing going on...so at least one side of you could breathe, and not be crushed by a person sitting on each side. (Which seems to be my destiny)
Ahhh. "The Middle Seat". Who will get that seat???? It could be you, or if you are in a row without a couple to take two of the seats, you have to worry if you will be seated next to characters from an alien movie. Not fun. I have experienced both those situations when travelling to meetings and conferences for my school board position. I would have to travel alone as none of the other board members, (mostly men) had schedules that meshed with mine. Never the less, I pressed on...and was often squished in that middle seat by rotund passengers on each side of me.
Now if you take a good look at the arm rests of plane seats you will discover that under the arm rest there is an opening. Quite easy for the person sitting beside you to SLOP their adipose tissue through the opening and onto your lap. On one unfortunate trip I was the bologna in the sandwich of two large men who had lots of fat pushing into my side and onto my lap from both sides. I remember they were seated before I arrived and I almost cried when I saw them. After I was somewhat situated I looked for the seat belt, then I decided...no way was I going to fish around in the piles of tissue for the restraining device, and really there was no need as I was so packed into my seat I couldn't move if I wanted to...
I had my own dualie-air-bags, already deployed sitting on both sides of me. Interesting that the Stewardess seat belt-Nazi did not even notice or call to my attention to the fact that I was not...OH NO, can you even believe it?...NOT buckled. I guess she did not want to fish around for the seat belt either. So there I sat for 3 hours not able to move as both sets of shoulders extended into my space along with everything else,
and I was pinned there like a bug specimen ...unable to move.
On one of my recent trips two young teen boys had the middle and aisle seat while I had the window seat. Okay I thought not too bad. The one in the middle had not hit his growth spurt so there was no fighting for possession of space going on. I did notice however that the two parents were across the aisle...blissfully removed of parental duties. And they were also away from the unusual smell that began to waft toward me like a green cloud. They must have know the kids had eaten some sort of gaseous food the night before and that's why they abandoned the kids, emancipated them, so to speak...for as long as the flight, at least.
So AHHHHH! The middle seat, If it is empty, it's Nirvana. Yes, the vacant middle seat is the wish of all who travel alone. We hold our breath (even without air cheese happening) pray, and await the closing of the cabin door. We lone passengers are dreading the arrival of the third in the row to spoil our flight, our air, our space, our brain cells, or our sanity.
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