I travel for work. I travel nearly every week and average about 135,000 miles a year. That is more than half way to the moon!
This week took me to a Caribbean island. Ah, but getting there is what this story is about.
I typically arrange to have an aisle seat, but on my flight, there was a mistake and I ended up with a middle seat. I sat down in 23B disappointed that I hadn't realized this, but the e-ticket machine wouldn't work and it was five in the morning. Also, on MD-88 aircraft, seat B is an aisle, but alas, this was an MD-90 and B is a middle. A middle seat can work provided the flight is not too long, you can drop the armrests and fate is friendly. I was the first to the row and checking emails on my phone, not paying attention to the other bleary eyed travelers, until a passenger spoke up stating he was in the window. I looked up and my heart dropped; standing ready to shoehorn themselves into 23A was a man of certain mass. I got up, perhaps it was possible to sit in the lavatory? Take off and landing would be the only dangerous part, heck, there is even a oxygen mask in there. The man proceeded to sit and then the real effort began. As I sat, he proceeded to twist and turn, twist and turn in an attempt to break the laws of volume. Was he sweating? Each twist, bump against me, each turn, bump against me. Finally, I think he got the seat belt on, or maybe it was over just one blob like leg, the seat belt quickly melted away, so I am not sure. When settling, mass typically spreads until it reaches another object (sitting in 23B). As a result, I got half a middle seat for 2 1/2 hours and each twist and turn...bump.
What to do? I couldn't read a newspaper and of all things, I had forgotten my book. It was time to deploy my secret, special weapon, I can sleep anywhere, anytime.
Bump, only this time it was welcome and meant we were on the ground and a short taxi later, sweet freedom.
Still want to travel for a living?
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