Neighbor To Neighbor
Sitting on a flight back from Hawaii.
I booked us in 17A and 17C. The window and aisle. Is this luxurious? Nope. But it tends to work out fine…
Best case, the middle seat is empty. Big win!
Worst case? I always just say the same thing to any rando being sandwiched:
“If you let me hog the armrest, you can take this aisle seat.”
Without fail, they’re thrilled to jump at the unexpected offer.
Well…
This total wackadoo next to me is attempting to make history.
So, yeah, it’s in-flight diary time…
—
How did this go so wrong?
Let’s retrace the steps:
1 – She accepted my offer. Aaaaaand…
2 – Is still TOTALLY hogging the armrest.
It’s quite the pickle.
Our nonverbal armrest battle is not how I want to spend the next 5 hours.
Aloha vibes. They shall protect me from going to war.
Just breathe.
We’ll figure this out.
—
I mean, I was totally clear on the terms – aisle seat for her, armrest for me.
Did she not understand? Did she forget?? Does she just not care???
Looking back, there was indeed a clear first sign of trouble.
I asked if she needed help with her bag.
Her response? An ice-cold:
“Gimme a MINUTE”
I see.
So sorry to bother you with an offer to lift that heavy bag.
Sincerely,
A complete stranger who is both losing his mind and his armrest
—
Four hours to go.
Can’t remember a time before our arms were touching.
I believe she’s trying to shove me off this armrest.
It. Will. Not. Happen.
Apparently, she doesn’t know how many times I’ve watched Over The Top starring Sylvester Stallone. An underrated classic. With a plot that revolves around arm-wrestling.
I know ALL the secrets to this sport.
Settle, bro.
Just surf the Aloha vibes.
At least for the remainder of this flight.
—
Three hours to go.
Current status? Dying slowly inside.
Y’know that sorority girl smoker voice…
She has it.
Nails on a chalkboard combined with old timey casino worker.
By the way, she’s nowhere near sorority/college age.
That didn’t stop her from wearing Vans and pajama pants, though.
Please send help.
—
If I had to guess her age?
My target range would be somewhere between 30 and 75.
Either grew up in the Britney Spears era or during the Korean War.
As with all the best lunatics…it’s impossible to know how old she is.
She’s timeless.
Much like rabies. Or the plague.
Two hours to go.
—
Her pasty, scaly arm is now overflowing to my side of the armrest.
We keep…
Rubbing.
I’m trying to remember a life before the feel of her rough skin against mine.
In some cultures, this could qualify as dating.
On that note, I might be infected with something.
Is there a doctor nearby?
Or an exorcist?
—
She’s watching a strange video on her phone.
Good time to ponder the question:
Which is worse?
A) Her smokey, snorty laugh.
Or
B) The dry, leathery skin rubbing against my arm as she dry heaves giggles.
The correct answer is…kill me now.
I once heard a bird screech – while dying – after a truck hit it.
My seat neighbor’s laugh is a more unpleasant sound.
—
Ok, that last part was a slight exaggeration.
But this is 100% true:
She just spread her legs like a dude and scratched her crotch.
For real.
Aloha vibes.
Hold on to them for dear life.
—
Ah, yes, the familiar sound of her snorting.
She’s texting a friend.
Is that a laugh or some sort of coughing spasm?
Her writing style is interesting.
Imagine typing exclusively with words from The Douchebag Handbook.
I see “lit,” “fam,” and a half-dozen uses of “lowkey” on that screen.
She appears to be “here for it” on all subjects.
—
The bane of my existence is currently asleep…
Face down on her tray.
Possible signs of drool.
But I have now, finally, taken sole ownership of the armrest.
A rare win.
The calm before our next storm.
Most people look peaceful when they sleep…
She just looks like trouble on pause.
One hour to go.
—
Damn.
I need to use the bathroom.
Big dilemma.
I could hold it in the hopes of lasting until the airport. Uncomfortable? Yup. But she might stay passed out for the rest of this flight…
Strong option.
OR…
I could risk possible death by waking a pit bull from its nap.
Tough call.
Bladder is screaming for relief.
—
Shit.
Couldn’t hold it any longer.
Upon further review, I should’ve just peed in a cup.
Uh, yeah, she wakes up cranky.
An odd and very intense energy right now.
Her seat movements could best be described as…turbocharged.
—
Great time for our next question:
Is she coked up?
Hard to say. But zero chance I’m approaching the armrest right now.
Might lose a finger in the tornado.
Are we there yet?
—
I often hear the word, “meditation.”
Her current state is the exact opposite of that.
Waking her up was a huge mistake.
Remember the movie “Gremlins” when that cute little guy turns into a demon?
This is kind of the same.
(Minus the cute part)
—
We’re getting off the plane now.
She looks…wobbly.
I’m starting to wonder if those laughs really were a coughing fit.
Wait, was that drool…or snot?
Hold on, is she sick??
Oh, no.
—
3 days later:
