Annoying Plane Passenger

With an upcoming trip planned, I recently started getting anxiety about the flight that I will take to my sunny destination. The anxiety, however, has nothing to do with being afraid of flying. In fact, I usually find the flight itself a fairly enjoyable experience. Instead, my anxiety stems from a deep hatred of sitting next to someone unwanted on the plane; a fear that is admittedly a bit on the childish side.

Although childish, this phobia actually has some warranted fears that associate themselves with the ever-present anxiety:
For example, I am always afraid that I will be stuck sitting next to some fatty Arbuckle who simply should not be sitting in one regulation size chair. This oversized carry-on is surely a fair fear for those who fly the cloudy skies on a daily basis. I mean, should I really be forced to squeeze myself between a hambone and an uncomfortable arm rest? I should hope not.

Additionally, there is always the screaming baby to keep one’s nerves on edge throughout the duration of an three hour trek. This delightful bundle of bawling is just enough to make me want to punch the mother right in the face for even having the kid. And I love kids, by the way. It’s not the kid’s fault, thus, he should never be punished. But if you know your kid is going to be screaming the entire plane ride, drive a car. Or better yet, take a train-at least you can get up and walk around. If not, enjoy the Joe Louis that strikes your teeth when you get up to use the restroom.

The worst case scenario for me, however, is the unwanted airplane conversation. God, I hate this. Let me set it up:

I walk onto the plane, searching for my seat-which I already know sucks because it’s a B seat, and B always falls in the middle of two people (see section on fatties)- when all of a sudden I see him; the man who is almost standing up, eagerly waiting for his aisle-mate. Fuck! I think to myself. He’s is totally going to want to talk to me. Damn it, God. Why me? Why this guy?
Nonetheless, I pull down the fisher price latch on the overhead compartment so that everyone else’s shit from five aisles down falls on top of me, stow my bag, and take a seat on the devil’s throne for my journey. Immediately, this douche bags starts asking me questions:

DB: So, where you from?
EI: Michigan.
DB: Oh, me too.
EI: Yeah, we’re leaving Detroit.
DB: Where you headed?
EI: This plane’s going to Myrtle Beach right?
DB: Sure is.
EI: Myrtle Beach.
DB: Me too!
EI: Yeah, I figured.
DB: Gonna golf?
EI: Yup.
DB: Me too.
EI: Cool.
DB: (Pointing to my hat) You like Michigan State?
EI: Yup.
This continues for a good 30 minutes.

Now, it’s not so much that I’m an unfriendly person. But, normally, if someone is giving me short, staccato responses, I shut up. But not on a plane; nope, this guy figures he’s got three hours in which I am trapped and have no choice but to listen to him babble on about how he can’t get his teenage daughter to listen to him. Leaving me with one of two choices:

1) Listen and complain about it later.
OR
2) Act as if I have some sort of a sleep disorder and slowly, but with purpose, nod my eyes and start to lower my head to my chest. I’ve done this before; sometimes, it works. Sure, I look like some sort of invalid who has a strange condition, but it’s well worth the silence that befalls once I convince my torturer that I’m actually asleep. I try snoring a bit as well, sometimes that will trick this fool.

All in all, this is one of those situations that seems to be unavoidable. However, it still sucks. Please don’t be that guy! I hate that, idiot.


everydayidiot@gmail.com