The man next to me in the photo above is the reason I couldn’t sleep on a red-eye flight from Las Vegas to Boston. I guess he thought I chose to fly through the night because I wanted to hang out, fully awake, on an airplane. He must have thought that was strange, because he clearly planned to sleep the whole time. Loudly, odorously, and on top of me.
According to Newton’s laws, my neighbor and I couldn’t both occupy the same space at the same time. But this would have been news to 26D. We exchanged pleasantries during taxi, take-off and landing, but as soon as his eyes closed he turned into the proverbial 500 pound gorilla, and “anywhere he wants to” seemed to mean “on my shoulder.”
His plump, warm arm hung well past his half of the armrest. His top half teetered precariously as though he were of those inflatable clowns you see at children’s parties. The only difference was a social one, in that I wasn’t allowed to repeatedly punch him the face.
Fortunately, revenge is even sweeter than Biscoff. The act of publicly outing my travel companion has so rejuvenated me that I feel like I’ve slept the sleep of ten red-eyes, or half of one normal sleep. Good night, sweet prince. Flight of angels indeed.
PS – Why is Delta’s in-flight magazine available on-line?
No comments:
Post a Comment