Confessions of An Airplane Neurotic

Being on airplanes freak me out. Not because I am afraid of heights. No. That's not it at all. It's just the strangest things take place 30,000 feet above ground. My mind starts racing a mile a minute and I get awfully neurotic. It's not natural for humans to be up that high.

The worst thing that can happen is that you are assigned to the middle seat. It's probably the closest to Hell you can get because you are confined to looking at the sad little head rest in front of you because you can't look out the window because then the person who is actually sitting next to the window will think you are staring at them forcing them to look at their sad little head rest or stare out into the clouds. And you don't want to look at the person sitting in the aisle seat because that would force them to look down at the aisle and the aisle lights could blind them. That would just be down right rude. I wouldn't want the guilt of causing someone's blindness on my head, would you? I don't think so. I already have enough to answer for when I arrive at the pearly gates.

I had to sit in the middle seat one time as I was flying home from some point across the Pacific Ocean. A 12-year old Asian girl sat next to me. She had the honor of the aisle seat. Oh, the aisle seat. You, lucky, lucky girl. Did you request that precious jewel or was Fate just on your side that day? When the angels colluded to give you a 14-hour plane ride of comfort and relaxation while the drones of Hades plotted my demise? Sleep on, little girl, enjoy the gentle touch of Destiny's palm while you can.

The freedom to get up whenever you want without having the imposition of tapping the person next to you on the shoulder and putting on puppy dog eyes, pouting your lips, and nodding your head towards the back of the plane and giving a "Sorry, buddy, but can't you see I really gotta go #1" sorta look. I wonder if everyone is as edgy as I get when I am on the plane. I hate having to go to the bathroom on planes because it's like getting up in the middle of the crescendo of a symphony or something like that. Maybe like getting up in the middle of a crazy cool action movie and the hero is blasting away at the bad guys or in the middle of a crazy sexy love scene where you realize these two people really should be together...or maybe getting up in the middle of your sister's wedding where the best man is giving his toast and you scream out, "I think I have to pee!! But don't mind me...keep going." I'm just neurotic. I sat in place for God knows how long and I kept saying to myself, "Come on, lightweight, you only have 7 more hours to go. Your bladder can handle that." But of course, I cannot. It's just not humanly possible, people.

Back to sitting next to this 12-year old Asian girl. She has conveniently fallen asleep and I contemplate how long she'll be taking a nap until I can go to the bathroom. I hate waking up people especially strangers. Because how many other occasions would you have to wake up a stranger? Only on an airplane when you have to go to the bathroom and maybe the next morning after a hard night of clubbing and tequila shots.

Oh, here comes the stewardess with the refreshment cart. Oh, if I go to the restroom, I'll miss her and I won't have the courage to ask her for a drink on my own because I'm sure she'll cast me a look that says, "You should have been in your seat, Miss Apples. You'll just have to wait until the next round of refreshments." And I've never been one of those people to push the "Request for Personal Service" button. That tiny ding that goes off and you think, "What does that loser want? Can't you leave the flight attendants alone. They work hard enough. All that pointing and coffee pouring, don't you know."

So I stay. Oh, what do I want to drink? What do I want to drink? This is always a big decision because you always want to get your money's worth so that means alcohol or fruit juice. But you don't want to be the lush with a tray table full of tiny vodka bottles and a glazed look in your eye as you become the airplane booze bum. When the flight attendant asks whether you want chicken or beef you get into a fist fight with her because your alcoholic veins want a thin crust pizza with pepperoni and extra olives. That would be a scene for sure.

"Chicken or Beef?"

"Pizza!! I want pizza...pepperoni and olives, don't you know?"

"I'm sorry Miss Apples but your choices are chicken and beef."

"I thought I told you I'm going to have the thin crust pizza, lady! Perk up your ears!"

"Miss Apples, calm down. I'm going to have to give you the chicken then."

"What the hell? I'm the customer! I want pizza! I can smell it baking back there. You attendants just want it all for yourselves, you selfish bastards!!"

So fruit juice then? But that seems so kindergarten. So you want soda? But then sometimes they don't give you the whole can and pour you half from the can and save it for the next poor soul who wants Diet Pepsi too. So water? But that seems like such a waste. You can get water anytime. Get a 7 up. Or a ginger ale. That sounds fancy...like a mature adult of drinking age who knows their boundaries.

"What drink can I get for you, ma'am?"

"Ginger ale please."

"Oh I'm sorry we're out of ginger ale."

Dammit!! Foiled again. I'll never fly this airline ever again! Ok, quick-- think!

"Umm..ok...7 up."

Dammit, no!! You should have gotten an apple juice. 7 up is too fizzy.

So now here I am with a cup full of fizzy soda and I still have to go to the restroom but now I have to finish the fizzy soda before I can get up. And since when do they start giving us pretzels instead of peanuts!! Look at the situations you put yourself in!! Goddammit!!

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. Ok, I have to go. I shake her once. Shame on you. I shake her twice. Shame on me. Nothing. I swear I nearly rip this girl's arm off but she still doesn't respond. What, did she take a bottle of sleeping pills or something? Worse yet, maybe she's narcoleptic. How sad. Now I feel sorry for being upset at a person with a physical disorder. But now I can tell people I met a 12-year old narcoleptic. Stop making jokes, you have a bladder situation on your hands.

I look over to the old man sitting in the window seat. I expect some look of sympathy...some expression of condolences because surely he had to have noticed my attempts to shake off Mr. Sandman's dust from this girl. But he gave me a quick glance and looked back down at his Skymall catalogue. Maybe he thought I was looking out the window and was startled to see my eyes meet his. What a cad. So what else was I left to do. I unbuckle my seat belt and climb over this girl. How embarassing. I felt like everyone was watching me. As if I was the in-flight entertainment.

"Look, honey, put on your headphones. The movie is starting. Oh its that one with the narcoleptic who always sits in the aisle seat and makes the person sitting next to her dreadfully uncomfortable. The best part is whether or not the person climbing over the narcoleptic's bladder explodes as she's crawling over the girl only to find out that one bathroom is clogged up and the other already has three people waiting in line for it!! What a comedy. Oscar gold for sure!!"

Anyhow, I make it to the tiny restroom and do my business. It embarassingly takes a few minutes for me to figure out how to flush and when I step out, the old lady waiting after me gives me an irritated look as if I stunk up the bathroom. Come on, lady, that smell was already there!! Blame the fat man in G21 who ordered the rubbery beef stroganoff, not me!!

Hopefully, I would have thought the 12-year old Asian girl had awoken or at least shifted in her sleep. I tapped her on the shoulder. I shook her shoulder. I wanted to slap her or maybe pour some hot tea in her lap but then that would make me the wrong one. That's the paradox of this situation and of society. Come on, a smoking gun doesn't give you all the details....

So once again I have to climb over her and I am hoping my bladder can last the final hours of this trip. Was the destination Texas or Purgatory, I forget?

I buckle my seatbelt and give a sigh of relief. I shake off those last few moments and decide to have a nice read of my anthology in peace and solace.

Oh great, now the sleepy bear awakes from hibernation. The girl shifts. She opens her eyes. Draws her knees up to her chest and turns in her seat. And the next thing I know, she has wedged her toes under my thighs for warmth.

Where am I? Is this happening? Who is this child who thinks she can use me as some kind of human heater? Do I look like a pair of socks? She continues sleeping and I don't know what to do. Obviously if I try to wake her, she won't respond. This truly is hell.

At least she doesn't have long toe nails and is wearing socks. And now, its easier for me to pass by her if I need to go to the restroom because I don't have to crawl over her legs. See, I'm not that pessimistic.....only 6 more hours to go....

Waiting for Julia

I woke up this morning and found a note from my girlfriend. It read "Went to buy milk. Be back soon." I smiled. That must mean Julia is going to make pancakes. Goddamn I love that girl. Was today Sunday? Because she only makes me big breakfasts on Sundays...mmm...but wait today is Tuesday.

Daily ritual. Get out of bed. Brush my teeth and wash my face. Hop in the shower and wash away the recesses of yesterday. Julia bought me this neato shower radio. She knows that I love to listen to NPR in the morning. It makes me feel extra smart. The insecurity in me is palpable but Julia lets me be who I am and she makes me feel like I'm king of the world. How did a fellow like me end up with a goddess like her? Life is good, I tell ya. Hmm...I feel extra clean today. Maybe its that new soap Julia bought for me. Smells like peaches.

The shower radio clock says its 8:34 A.M.

Clean my ears with q-tips and wrap the towel around my waist. I listen to the sounds of the apartment. I hear no one. I don't even hear someone trying not to make a sound. Because sometimes those are even louder. Is Julia hiding? She must be back from buying milk by now. The corner store is only a block over. Or did Mr. Lee say he was closing down for remodeling? I guess she had to take my bike all the way to Turner Street. What a hassle. All because she loves me so much to make pancakes on a.....Tuesday?

I sit in my flannel boxers and white T-shirt and make some coffee. The paper is already on the table. The sun shines through and I can see that its going to be a good day. Marshall called me and said I didn't have to go into work until 11:30. What a guy. "We all work hard and you've been working extra hard. Come into work late tomorrow, son. How's that little lady of yours? Man, she's a firecracker." Marshall's great. I've worked at GridIron, Inc for five years now. Maybe this Christmas, I will get that bonus I've been waiting for so long. Just maybe.

Where's Julia? I hope things are ok. Oh man, I hope nothing happened to her. I shake my head. What a doof. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself. Should I call her? No, because if I do then that's when she'll stroll through the door and I don't want to seem needy...what a doof.

I put on a pot of coffee and try to remember if Julia preferred the French Vanilla or the Columbian roast. Maybe the French Vanilla.

She'll be here any moment.

I look out the window and can see Mr. Lee sweeping the outside of his shop. I chuckle.

The phone rings and I let the machine get it.

"Uhh...Eric. Are you there? It's Julia. I wanted to know when I can come pick up my things. Its going to be weird so maybe I should just come by when you're not there. I'll leave the key when I'm done. Hope things are ok with you....remember...this was for the best. I'm sorry."

I listen to the words but they wash over me and are taken away by the waves of my mind. When's Julia coming back to make those pancakes? The beep weighs on my mind as if something important had taken place. I shrug. Life is great. I have a great job, a great girlfriend...life couldn't be better.

I wonder when Julia will be back with the milk to make pancakes. I'm getting hungry.

Three Musketeers