I got to the airport in good time, but when I tried to get checked in they told me that my suitcase was too heavy. This means I have to unpack it and transfer some books into my carry-on. The reason I had them in my checked luggage is that they are stinking heavy. As I do this I can feel the Superman stares of the other passengers waiting in line behind me...at this point the Air Canada representative announces that she's going to go on her break as it looks like it will take me awhile to get my stuff all together (I feel the stares intensify into something more like the laser blasts from Cyclops than xray vision from Clark Kent).
I hobble off to the boarding gate like a hobbit on laundry day - an odd assortment of socks books and various sundry spilling out of my computer bags. I catch the attentive eye of the Security staff and I know this is not going to be a laid back start to my trip. At 5am I look like a crazed terrorist in general - but now I am definitely marked as a person of interest. The guard makes me take off my shoes and belt (and manages to break the button on my jeans in the process). I think everything will be fine once I get to my plane - but I am wrong. Nothing is in its proper spot - I can't find my earphones, the book and notepad are no longer together and I can't find where I re-stuffed my pens. I feel a familiar warming of my neck as the passengers I held up at the check and security gate are now waiting for me to solve the case study in chaos theory that is my carry-on luggage!
Things seem to settle down as we start the first leg of the journey. However once we get to cruising altitude the guy beside me pulls out the newspaper and starts to read it. But not in the "I'm on an airplane so I should confine myself to the small amount of space represented by my seats footprint" manner - no he decides to stretch out and read like he is at home and has picked this week to be the time he has decided to take the William Shatner / All-Bran Challenge. In synchronised swimming precision the person in front decides to adjust his seat into full recline mode. He only stops when the chair cannot go any further back without driving my knees into the cargo hold (but he takes a few runs at it before being sure this is the case).
I decide to resign myself to the discomfort - but I am not making this journey alone and decide to take these two travelers along with me. I move the magazines and drive one knee into Capt Lazy Boys kidney (if I am going to lose the feeling in my legs I decide to make him pee blood for the rest of the week). I also decide to claim my fair share of the arm rest so that Bowel Buddy can't get his arms into a comfortable 90-degree angle.
UPDATE: In a touching homage to Patrick Swazey's passing the guy in front of me has managed to pass my guard and has me in a position where I am straddling him...if he starts to throw a pot (a la Ghost) on his drop down tray I may need to strangle him with the dorky vest he is wearing - or at least stare at his neck until he feels my disapproval.
Oh Well we can only go up from here!
Migwec,
Ehkosit.
Ehkosit.
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