Seat 11F(Off)
First of all, I'd like to apologize to my three readers for my absence over the last four days. I can explain.
Introduction: But first, onto the unexplainable. To close out an otherwise unforgettable weekend (that part I can explain), I regretfully abandon the business I had to attend to with my roommate (ooh, I can explain that one too) and hop into a taxi for the airport to catch my 6:50 pm flight home last evening. 6:52, they announce that we'll begin boarding. 6:53, the airport fire alarm goes off.
Body: 7:32 I find my seat in 11F. As stated before, I'm a window seat man. I hunker my ass down as I try to "read" Maxim from the reflection off the window as the short Japanese man in 10F flips through the pages. Soon my row mate arrives; a 5'7"-ish, read-headed, full-figured woman with one of those inflatable pillows. She sits in 11D, and we luck out with an empty middle seat. In under 60 seconds, her pillow is inflated and a dark, US Airways blanket is draped over her head. Shortly thereafter, this 5'7", big-boned woman with what is one of the ugliest haircuts one can receive outside of the 80's, proceeds to lie down in 11D AND 11E. Ok, she's tired. Fine.
Before we take off, she's in her third position of the evening, with her feet hanging out in the aisle and her greasy red head pushing my armrest into my left thigh.
8-something (sorry, I fell asleep for a few), we take off. Now she's in her fourth position (see above picture). Have you seen that episode of Seinfeld when Kramer (Kosmo to you), can't sleep in his apartment because the supernova-bright sign from Kenny's Chicken inhibits Kramer's sleep, so he proceeds to sleep at Jerry's place but as he lays on the couch, he sees it's too short so he violently kicks the opposite end of the couch with the bottoms of his feet to try to lengthen the room? Have you seen it? Have you? That's the stunt that Red-Headed Trackmarks tries to pull as she pushes her exposed, thong-supporting rear-end further and further into my armrest/left thigh.
Now I'm a patient kid. A 6'5", weekly traveler who enjoys the benefits of that extra 5" of leg room in Economy Plus that allows me to cross my legs, recline and freely scratch myself. I like that shit. I really do. But when I roll over to find the Lockness Red-Headed Monster sitting completely upright in 11E with her professional-wrestler-like legs impinging on my 11F (and her 11D) space, her eyes closed, mouth and legs wide open, and my left armrest completely confiscated by her bare, Irish-white elbow and forearm, I get creative.
Being that this was a late evening flight with the cabin lights overly dimmed, I opt to turn on my overhead light (and hers), call the Flight Attendant, and order dinner while I try to read an episode of SmartMoney (something I would otherwise never do). That lasted about 6-7 minutes before she retreats back to her seat in 11D, again trying to recline her swollen, not-so-well groomed bare-feet into, under, and over my left armrest.
Now I understand that she was tired. Hooking and street living would wear my shit out too. Two things: #1, I think it was more of a selfish, disregard for her social counterparts because #2, if she was really that tired to go through all the motions she went through, she could've fallen asleep in the lavatory with my fist up her ass and my foot to her throat. I can say that with innocent certainty because there's been times that I've been so freaking tired that I'd give up that pride and truthful ability to say such a thing just so I could take a nap. Hell, I probably have fallen asleep in a bathroom with my own fist up my ass and my foot to my throat, but only because I truly was that tired and had the manners not to disrespect another's personal space.
Conclusion: So now we're about to cross into Colorado and begin our decent (cause our airport is pretty much on the Colorado/Nebraska border), and being as well-rested as she must've been, she folds down the tray table in the middle seat and compulsively lays out and organizes 7 food items. . .and a diet coke with straw. Pretzels, chocolate pudding, a 7-11 3" sub and some other types of chocolate delight. Gone. Watching her methodically arrange all of these things on that 9" by 9" tray table, it is at this point that part of my undergraduate education comes into play and I realize that she seriously has some kind of cognitive difference/disability or psychological disorder. . . i.e. Retardation.
Now I feel bad. Don't you?
