You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The stinky girl in the plane.
I’m not sure its her fault.
I’m not sure she knew.
She had to know.
How could you not?
I’m in the middle seat, the dreaded middle seat.
It’s the seat that nobody wants, like the pregnant girl with the oozing sore on her lip at the 12 step program prom.
I’m in the middle seat and it’s really my fault.
I have an A boarding pass. That’s the key to the kingdom in the Southwest Universe.
Enter 1st like a king. Choose your overhead bin and pick a seat like a feudal lord.
I’m flying to California with my son and the little prince wants to sit by the window.
I can either sit in the aisle and not talk to him for four hours, which is what happened anyway, or I can sit in the dreaded middle seat, the seat as unappetizing as a hemorrhoid commercial.
So I am in the middle seat and I am watching the array of possible row-mates heading my way.
Their eyes swivel to the left and the right.
We seated passengers want them to walk by and disappear into the oblivion behind us.
“Ok folks, grab a seat. This is a completely full flight,” the voice booms over head.
“Damn, we are screwed,” I mutter under my breath.
I look at my son. He has no worries. He is shuttling through his iPhone like the riddle to the sphinx is contained in the secret wifi sauce within.
Then I see her. She is not hideous, but she is also not the norm.
She is a young woman, perhaps in her early 20’s. She has a round white face that is covered with acne. Poor thing looks like what’s left of the Apollo moon landing.
She is wearing a dark hoodie straight from the Uni Bomber collection.
She is wearing orange canvas high top converse.
Orange High tops?
I wouldn’t wear those things and my wardrobe is straight from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
Her hair pokes out from under her hoodie. It is purple and yellow and red and tinged with blue. It is an assortment of flavors, like a hirsute Baskin Robbins ice cream counter.
“Is this seat taken?” she says. Her voice is low, like a whisper. Her words detonate upon impact with the cabin atmosphere filled with engine whir and passenger buzz and over head announcements.
I read her lips and imagine that she can only be asking about the obviously awesome seat her C boarding pass is affording her on the aisle.
I motion for her to sit. “It’s all you,” I say secretly wishing I was sitting there.
She sits down and begins the slow promenade of finding her seat belt under her laboriously large ass, contained by a pair of black stretch pants.
She puts her items under the seat in front of her and shifts and wobbles and then, finally, when there is not a single thing left for her to do, she becomes motionless.
“Please turn off all cellular devices, the cabin doors are secured,” the announcement rings.
And that’s when I sense it. When the air is trapped in this perfect flying humidifier of recycled freshness. I catch a wiff of something wrong.
I look to my son. I smile thinking maybe he is the source. He doesn’t look up from his phone which is now set to game mode and still contains the key to some universe, only he understands.
I slide my eyes ever so slightly to the una bomber seat beside me.
What is that funk? I think to myself.
It is not lady like. It is hardly Chanel No. 5.
Is someone smuggling warm after birth in their carry on?
It is a cross between road tar, fart and burned flesh.
How is that emanating from this Baskin Robbins headed woman?
I adjust my air conditioning vent. I point it downward, like a shower of protective air around me.
It provides a cooling curtain of moving particles that form a barrier that ward off the scent from this aisle stealing skunk woman.
We take off and things only become stranger.
Half an hour into the flight, she hunches over in her seat. I wonder if its gastric bypass or is she going to vomit.
I search the seat back compartment in front of me looking for an air sickness bag.
I am exhausted and I have been trying to sleep.
I am wearing my sunglasses and I am wearing ear plugs to drown out the nonsensical passenger speak from all points around me.
I close my eyes and try to focus on the blackness behind my pupils. I push the little twinkly stars to the forefront of my brain hoping sleep will hypnotize me into submission.
Suddenly there is a banging on my shoulder.
WHAT?
I crack an eye lid.
It is Baskin Robbins girl.
She is staring at me with a sad puppy dog face.
She is holding her water glass and she has her tray table half way pushed up.
“Can you put this on your tray table,” she pleads.
I can see in her face she is having some sort of issue.
I lower my tray table and take her cup.
I wonder if it is smeared with rainbow flavored Ebola.
She gets up and waddles to the lavatory.
My son looks up from the riddle of the Sphinx.
“What was that?” he says, breaking a 2 hour silence.
“Something’s wrong with that one,” I say, not pleased that she is going to come back.
I stare at her water glass. What if she has the Herp I wonder.
How ridiculous, I think to myself.
Then I see her returning. She is down the aisle. It is a flop of red and blue and yellow hair.
finally she is upon me and she lowers herself into her seat like a sack of potatoes thrown off the back of a truck.
SPLATT.
She sits down and stares at the seat before her.
I hand her the cup.
She looks at me.
“Can I leave it there?” she says. “I may have to get up again quickly.”
I am annoyed. I don’t want her germ coated glass. I don’t want my tray table down. I don’t want an unexpected flow of projectile vomit to fill my lap.
I say nothing and close my eyes.
I feel the Baskin Robbins headed girl hunched over. She is either praying, looking for lost change or not feeling well.
There is nothing I can do to help her.
I close my eyes and try to imagine the curtain of air protecting me from over head.
Suddenly another tap on my shoulder.
WHAT!
I open my eyes.
“When we land, I need you to help me find my iPhone,” she implores, as if I am her father or significant other and this is usual behavior in an airplane.
I am not happy. I want to sleep. This woman smells and she is irritating.
“You lost your cell phone?” I stupidly mimic, wishing I could knock her into another row to be someone elses idiot seat mate.
“I don’t know where it is. It has everything in it.”
“OK. When we land, we’ll find it.”
Her eyes are sad. Her worry is real. I feel bad for her, but I still don’t like being this close. It’s like standing in a garbage dump and trying not to smell it.
Finally we land.
We stand. And someone from the row behind us hands her the lost cell phone.
“Oh thank you,” she says scrolling through it.
Suddenly she smiles, grabs her multi colored back pack and heads down the aisle to wherever it is she is going.
I look at my son.
“What was that?” he chortles.
I stare at the floppy Baskin Robbins headed mess walking away.
I never will really know how to answer that.
Life’s Crazy™