You’re waiting at the airport terminal for your plane. You’re sitting down. What do you do? Think of this as a choose your own adventure book, remember those?
- Listen to your iPod and hope a traveling musician compliments you on your indie look
- Read a book about existentialism that you don’t understand, but carry around to appear cultured to anyone who is attractive AND smart, but dumb enough to fall for the old trick
- Fall asleep and take up four seats and a germ-riddled armrest all to your snoring self
- Pig out on greasy airport food that costs twice as much as it does outside of the airport
- Nibble at the quartered peanut butter and jelly sandwich your mother packed in a ziploc bag
- Check your work email on your laptop and worry about your designer suit wrinkling during the flight
None of those? That’s probably because most people waiting at the airport end up looking at everyone else waiting at the airport. At least that’s what I do, and I’m taking the liberty of speaking for everyone else. Now I know guys have an airplane game. The “About to Die Sex Game”. Haven’t heard about it? They look around the gate (or when they get on the plane) and pick out the “lucky” girl they would have sex with if the plane goes down. Why guys think women would have sex with them in a matter of seconds before their sudden death is a mystery to me. But I can’t judge; I’m guilty of playing a little game myself.
It’s “Who do I NOT want to sit next to”. For example, would you like to sit next to a woman with big hair and a severe dandruff problem? Or an anti-bather who loves Aqua Di Gio? Or what about a guy who has a torture chamber in his house? By picking someone unfavorable, I usually find that I’m more likely to enjoy my flight because typically I don’t get stuck with that person. But there’s always the chance for disappointment.
You could be sitting next to a guy who has a handcuff collection in his basement.
I have my eyes glued on one person. I watch his every move. I’ve singled him out as the repulsive person I do not want to sit next to. He’s wearing a Nascar baseball cap and toting around a rum and coke in a plastic cup. The cup gets refilled once, twice, six times. And his eyes are glassy cubes directed at women’s rear ends. He has a smirk like he’s trying to be approachable, but to me it comes off as OJ Simpson’s sociopath mugshot. I can’t help but feel bad for this guy because he seems lonely, but at the same time I don’t want to be the one to keep him company.
He gets less appealing by the minute. Pulling out a movie theater style box of Milk Duds, he opens the lid, tilts the box over his gaping mouth, and barely chews them before gulping them down. It’s like a circus act. Pause for a drink, pound Milk Duds, chug, slam, gulp them down like multivitamins. He suddenly disrupts his routine. He wants to savor the few remaining Duds. He squishes and molds them between his fingers, then throws them in the air and catches them in his caramel and chocolate coated mouth. It’s almost childlike in a way. But then he gets not so innocent. He licks and sucks his fingertips with loud smacking noises as he checks out more asses strut by. Who knew a Milk Dud addiction could be so filthy?
You saw it coming, it’s the most predictable outcome. I’m the window seat. He’s the aisle. As people are continuing to get seated, he tries to start a conversation. I answer but then coincidentally become interested in what movies will be shown on the flight and flip through Hemispheres. He mimics and flips through the duty-free magazine. Then he makes a phone call. He’s telling the person on the line, a wife, a girlfriend, a daughter, that he just found a necklace with a flip flop charm that she would love. He says he wishes he could buy it for her. I actually liked him in that moment. He was a thoughtful tease who knew someone with juvenile taste. The fact that there was a female willing to talk to him made him seem normal and realistic. And the fact that a rhinestone flip flop conjured up thoughts of someone important to him was really “awww” worthy.
Plane takes off and he’s getting very chatty with me again, especially after his first hard drink on the plane. No wonder why he couldn’t afford the damn flip flop necklace. It goes to little plastic bottles of alcohol. I instantly go back to detesting him. [This must be why my boyfriend says I'm moody]. I take a couple of Dramamines (never travel without them), and Milk Dud asks if I feel sick. I reply, “Yes, I get very vomitey. So I hope these help.” He piped down. And the miracles started kicking in and I was feeling drowsy, happy and free. Free from the rum breath directed my way. As I drift off I pray I don’t wake up to find an extra hand under my blanket.
In short, we all survive these temporary unfortunate neighbor situations. Some “no-no’s” are worse than others. The one I’ve told you about was pretty mild. I’ve picked out worse people at airports. It’s rare to actually get stuck with them though. So next time you’re at the airport, don’t pick out the person you wish to sit next to. You’ll only be disappointed. Pick who you don’t want to sit next to, and it (typically) can only go up from there.
