There’s nothing worse that I hate than flying during the holidays.
I was out the door at 4:30am. The first flight, NYC to Washington D.C., was delayed, but I didn’t notice too much since I was zombified. The second flight, Wahington D.C. to motherfucking ATLANTA, had two of the sauciest little sky queens I have ever seen. The two Mary’s took turns servicing me with headphones and keeping me stocked up with bloody mary’s. I decided against the pot cookies because I didn’t want to be tired upon arrival. I wanted to be drunk.
The Atlanta airport was a brand new experience for me. What a pit-hole – crowded trams, switched gates, broken escalators, duty free kiosks, and an overwhelming amount of nicely dressed Mexicans drinking Starbucks. My flight had a “change of equipment” and had to have their “seating charts re-arranged”. I knew this meant there could be a danger of having to fight for my aisle seat. Sure enough, when I presented my boarding pass, which said I had an aisle seat, the computer re-issued me a ticket for a middle seat.
In times like these, I have to rely on my powers of improvisation.
ME: I need to mention that I have severe claustrophobia and I cannot sit in the middle seat on a plane. How can we fix my seating assignment?
THEM: There are no more seats.
ME: I had booked an aisle seat five months ago due to my condition.
THEM: Ask someone to switch with you.
ME: And if that doesn’t work?
THEM: Talk to the flight attendant on duty.
The first flight attendant I saw on the plane was a 46 year old-ish, chemically treated blonde. By sight, I could tell that her favorite hobbies included voting Republican and applying eyeliner. I went through the whole routine with her. She sighed and, in a well polished, fake caring tone, she said, “I’m surprised you fly at all!” Bitch! Kudos for sounding like your being professional and interested in my well being, but actually cutting me down. I hate you, but congratulations. She recommended that I speak to Marny, “the large woman with a big personality” who is “taking care of the guests who are seated where you will be sitting.” Wow, a casual mention of how I will be sitting there – a decent attempt at a Jedi mind trick. Bitch was gooood!
I met Marny and put on another consistently brilliant performance, making sure it seemed I was trying to be discreet about my “medically diagnosed claustrophobia” while I was just loud enough so everyone could hear me. The only only seat open was a window next to a 6 year-old boy and his rigid looking mother. Marny asked her to slide over. Miss Rigid had the nerve to say SHE had claustrophobia! She said if she sat by the window, the ceiling “would be too close” and make her feel “closed in”.
ME: I am a foot taller than you and weigh 300 pounds. You think it’s going to be less severely claustrophobic for me?
HER: I just can’t physically do it.
ME: I just can’t physically or emotionally do it.
HER: I can have my son move over to the window seat. You can have the middle.
ME: The middle seat definitely won’t work.
HER: Well, I don’t know what to tell you.
ME: I know what to tell YOU!
MARNY: Do you think you can handle the window seat?
ME: I can try. I just took my paxil, so maybe it will be OK. I hope this compromise works…. it didn’t last time I tried.
I then made a big deal about squeezing by the mother and son. I expanded my body to seem fatter and purposely bumped my elbows and forehead all over the place. Once seated, I made a big show of unzipping my jacket and taking it off. After struggling with the seatbelt and breathing irregularly, I felt satisfied that I made a valiant effort to reclaim my aisle seat. I hadn’t sat next to the window in forever, and with the small size of the kid, I actually had plenty of room.
A young hippie couple seated in front of me smiled and offered me a Valium. They were my new best friends! The had a little hippie baby whose name was Parker and we chatted about out favorite flavor of cocktails (they are whiskey fans, I am a rum guy). They were delightful and cared about my unfair predicament… not enough to give me their aisle seat of course. But hey, free prescription meds!
Ms. Rigid was eagerly looking out the window as we prepared for take off. I closed the shutter on the window, blocking her view, and started watching season two of ‘Weeds’ on my ipod. If she was in charge of the aisle in the aisle seat, I am in charge of the windows in the window seat. She was bugged and didn’t speak to me the rest of the flight. Marny made a big tah-do on checking on me and gave me free booze the rest of the flight. She was a stern but gentle-hearted southerner. We chatted by the restroom while I took a stretch break. We talked about reality TV, airplane technology and the cunt with the sparkly attitude I encountered when I first started my plea for an aisle seat.
ME: She wasn’t too helpful.
MARNY: I bet. She’s new with this crew.
ME: She told me to speak to Marny, the large lady with a big personality.
MARNY: Oh did she?
ME: Yeah, I mean, you’re tall, but I wouldn’t use the word ‘large’.
MARNY: Very interesting.
ME: And your personality is aces to me. Thanks for helping me.
MARNY: You’re welcome. Another rum and coke?
I hope I laid the foundation for a bitch fight on board the next flight between the two of them. That red state, aging beauty queen needs to have her teeth knocked in a little bit and I think Marny was just the lady to do it.
Anyway, I made it to The OC and went to my friend’s restaurant and drank a bunch. I spent the evening with some buddies from my old theatre company and two fo my best friends in The OC, Keith and Justin. So far, not too bad of a trip. No blood. No police. No crying.
