There are many, many things I don't like about traveling. First of all, most people are dickheads. I have never understood the race to get ON the plane. It isn't going anywhere. And why does every flight have at least two people who try to shove a bag the size of an elephant into the overhead? They spin and spin their bag around, but guess what, it doesn't fit, jerkoff.
I'm also not a fan of stripping down to go through security. Is there a more reactionary profession than airline security? Shoe bomb? Take your shoes off! Liquids bombs? No more water! Eventually, some dude is going to make a bomb mold, wrap it around his wang, and then we are going to have to nude up. I don't know how many more years of airline travel we have left, but during one of the last flights, I say they live on the edge and let everyone on WITH un-removed shoes and a big bottle of "outside" water. I appreciate the security precautions...I understand them...but they still suck.
Regardless, this blog has nothing to do with any of my traveling neurosis (riiiiight). This blog has to do with how I got totally screwed over on my flight back from New Orleans. T- and I got our seats separated somehow, so I ended up sitting in the middle by two people I didn't know. Normally, not a huge deal. But this was not a normal day.
Of all the people on the entire plane, you know who they put next to me? To my right: The buffest weightlifter dude I have seen in person in my life. As an added bonus, he was wearing short sleeves and he had arms that would have had Robin Williams saying "Dude...that shit's hairy!" He couldn't help but take up the entire armrest, and whenever he leaned to the right, I'm not positive, but I think the plane tilted to the side just a bit. This dude was HUGE (and hairy).
To my left, and I know you won't believe me: The tallest dude on the fucking plane. I shit you not, this guy was 6'10" and sitting in economy? Either play basketball and get a private jet or walk, man. Seriously, I think this guy could have blown himself his legs were so jammed up against the seat in front of him. He, too, could not help but take up the entire armrest.
Then, there was me. Stuck. In the middle. If you don't know me well, I have a thing about being touched (you know what I mean). I have an imaginary bubble that surrounds my skin, my aura, and my aura's afro (FYI, my aura is black). Point being, I like A LOT of personal space. A lot of personal space I didn't get. For hours. If I leaned to my right, I was attacked by thick, black, sweaty, forearm hair. If I leaned to my left, I was almost certainly going to get kneed in the face by Sir Legs-a-Lot.
But my torture didn't end here.
One of the things I love most in life is fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. LOVE THEM. On Frontier Airlines, you know what they do...they come around and PASS SOME OUT FOR FREE! OH YEAH. I was soooooooo happy...I was imagining just a few moments of blissful solitude alone with my cookie. No Steroid McGee. No Manute Bol. Just me. Eyes closed. Fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie in hand. HEAVEN!
Just one little hoop to jump through.
"Excuse me, are these cookies nut free?"
"Yeah. Nut free. I have a peanut allergy...and it would be kind of bad to have an allergic reaction on a plane." And as I stuck out my hand and relived my cookie-eating fantasy while waiting for her "Get out of here....of course there are no nuts, you big goof!" she, instead, did the worst thing possible:
"Hmmm...I'm not sure. I don't think so."
My arm (yes, my arm) went flaccid. And I was brought back to reality. I felt Hulk Hogan's hair on me...and I swear to god I could see down into Wilt Chamberlain's crotch..."You don't think so???"
"Yeah...I'm not sure."
If you don't have a peanut allergy, you have no idea how demoralizing this statement is. "Yes, it has peanuts" is very easy to handle. If I eat X, I die. No problem...I won't eat it. But "I don't think so" messes with your mind. Because then you have a choice. Do I want to risk it? is always the first thought that comes to mind...but then you have to deal with the agony of psychosomatic turmoil. Well, at least I do.
"That's ok" I'll just go back to my own personal Hell while I silently hate you.
And yes, in case you were curious, both my row-mates ate their cookies...I can still see the crumbs on Cousin It's forearms in my mind.