Plane Ride
My knees pop and my feet tingle as I step off the plane into Chicago Midway airport. The journey home from Boston has reached a much needed intermission.
Heading to our final flight to Minneapolis, my dad, unable to resist the draw of any and all smoothie machines, makes a quick pit stop.
He asks me if I would like to partake.
No.
Two strawberry smoothies please, and he hands me a cold plastic red cup o' frozen drink. I suckle on the end of the straw and am pleased to find the smoothie tastes not like a butt hole. I finish it well after my father, but with no complaints.
As we board flight #764 the two of us are separated, and my dad lumbers back to the bowels of the plan to slouch between a pregnant woman and a not-pregnant-but-boy-would-that-be-a-nice-excuse-please-stop-pouring-into-half-of-my-seat woman.
I am seated in the middle seat, also, though my traveling compadres have yet to arrive. I sit with my book in my lap and wait.
The first is a hefty man with equally hefty pit stains and a disconcertingly tight red shirt. He shuffles about in his bad, elbowing me in the side several times. I, ever so politely, shift a few inches to my right and pray to any God that might be floating in above around or below me to please please please leace this other seat open ooooh please jesus christ
Knowing my luck, Sweat Stains grins at me, the guy sitting in that other seat there'll be a big guy too.
He has keenly noticed that I am also of a large stature and is, as always seems to be the case, noticing so outloud.
I force a muttery laugh.
Seriously, he continues with a bark. Next big guy through that door'll be sittin' down next to the two of us! Three big guys in a row! His eyes widened as did his smile and he looked at me for a time.
That sure would be inconvenient, I say quietly.
Yeah man! he chortles and we are now best friends. He continues to pontificate on the hilarity of his hypothetical situation until he is interrupted by a timid
S'cuse me.
We both look up to see a small, staggeringly beautiful young lady pointing to my right.
That's my seat, I guess. I gotta get in there.
Sweat Stains turns to me with a slack jaw and big round eyes the size of pizza pies.
I guess we were wrong, he whispers.
We should probably move, I whisper back.
He and I shuffle into the aisle, allowing her time to slide in towards the window. When we all settle back in, fidgeting with our seat belts and clicking them closed, I am nearly smacked in the face as Sweat Stains reaches across my lap with a terribly intrusive and mainly repulsice
HI I'M SWEAT STAINS!!! (only, as a quick side note, he used his given name at the time. I just, you see, had kept no mind to think of remembering it. In fact... I was too concerned abuot the fucking SWEAT STAINS!!! inches from my chin)
The young lady responses in turn, slowly reaching up to shake his hand.
I sit facing forward while S. S. retracts his arm.
I turn to face her.
Hi, I say. I would offer a hand shake too but my hands get so sweaty
(all the god damned time)
whenever I fly, I think I'll spare you.
That's quite alright she says with a smile and leans in towards my face, kissing me on the cheek.
I shift a bit in my seat, alarmed and confused.
Her lips move over to my ear as she whispers ever so softly
((i'm not wearing any underwear))
I look around the cabin and back to her. She just nods at me and sits back in her seat, but not before lowering her hand to my groin and feeling around, giving me a light squeeze.
I cough and shift again.
What are you doing?
She bats her eyelashes. Falling in love with you, she says with a sigh.
We are passionately involved the rest of the flight, and when the plane lands we run off to Vegas and get married. We honeymoon all over the world, swimming with the dolphins of the Pacific, running with the bulls of Spain, dining with the midgets of Paraguay. We have a thousand kids together and live happily ever after on the cliff side overlooking our very own vineyard and cock-fighting arena.
I drift back to the middle seat row 12 flight #764 from some hazy edged day dream in any bad 1990's sitcom and look down at my book.
I don't finish it, but get fairly close. The light outside fades fast and after we land I sleep the whole drive home.
Heading to our final flight to Minneapolis, my dad, unable to resist the draw of any and all smoothie machines, makes a quick pit stop.
He asks me if I would like to partake.
No.
Two strawberry smoothies please, and he hands me a cold plastic red cup o' frozen drink. I suckle on the end of the straw and am pleased to find the smoothie tastes not like a butt hole. I finish it well after my father, but with no complaints.
As we board flight #764 the two of us are separated, and my dad lumbers back to the bowels of the plan to slouch between a pregnant woman and a not-pregnant-but-boy-would-that-be-a-nice-excuse-please-stop-pouring-into-half-of-my-seat woman.
I am seated in the middle seat, also, though my traveling compadres have yet to arrive. I sit with my book in my lap and wait.
The first is a hefty man with equally hefty pit stains and a disconcertingly tight red shirt. He shuffles about in his bad, elbowing me in the side several times. I, ever so politely, shift a few inches to my right and pray to any God that might be floating in above around or below me to please please please leace this other seat open ooooh please jesus christ
Knowing my luck, Sweat Stains grins at me, the guy sitting in that other seat there'll be a big guy too.
He has keenly noticed that I am also of a large stature and is, as always seems to be the case, noticing so outloud.
I force a muttery laugh.
Seriously, he continues with a bark. Next big guy through that door'll be sittin' down next to the two of us! Three big guys in a row! His eyes widened as did his smile and he looked at me for a time.
That sure would be inconvenient, I say quietly.
Yeah man! he chortles and we are now best friends. He continues to pontificate on the hilarity of his hypothetical situation until he is interrupted by a timid
S'cuse me.
We both look up to see a small, staggeringly beautiful young lady pointing to my right.
That's my seat, I guess. I gotta get in there.
Sweat Stains turns to me with a slack jaw and big round eyes the size of pizza pies.
I guess we were wrong, he whispers.
We should probably move, I whisper back.
He and I shuffle into the aisle, allowing her time to slide in towards the window. When we all settle back in, fidgeting with our seat belts and clicking them closed, I am nearly smacked in the face as Sweat Stains reaches across my lap with a terribly intrusive and mainly repulsice
HI I'M SWEAT STAINS!!! (only, as a quick side note, he used his given name at the time. I just, you see, had kept no mind to think of remembering it. In fact... I was too concerned abuot the fucking SWEAT STAINS!!! inches from my chin)
The young lady responses in turn, slowly reaching up to shake his hand.
I sit facing forward while S. S. retracts his arm.
I turn to face her.
Hi, I say. I would offer a hand shake too but my hands get so sweaty
(all the god damned time)
whenever I fly, I think I'll spare you.
That's quite alright she says with a smile and leans in towards my face, kissing me on the cheek.
I shift a bit in my seat, alarmed and confused.
Her lips move over to my ear as she whispers ever so softly
((i'm not wearing any underwear))
I look around the cabin and back to her. She just nods at me and sits back in her seat, but not before lowering her hand to my groin and feeling around, giving me a light squeeze.
I cough and shift again.
What are you doing?
She bats her eyelashes. Falling in love with you, she says with a sigh.
We are passionately involved the rest of the flight, and when the plane lands we run off to Vegas and get married. We honeymoon all over the world, swimming with the dolphins of the Pacific, running with the bulls of Spain, dining with the midgets of Paraguay. We have a thousand kids together and live happily ever after on the cliff side overlooking our very own vineyard and cock-fighting arena.
I drift back to the middle seat row 12 flight #764 from some hazy edged day dream in any bad 1990's sitcom and look down at my book.
I don't finish it, but get fairly close. The light outside fades fast and after we land I sleep the whole drive home.
posted by AHaynes at 1:49 PM
1 Comments:
whoa... I thought you were serious there for a minute...
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