So where was I? Ah yes, being offered a "Diet". Well it goes without saying that I made it safely to Washington, D.C., and for all you not so bright lightbulbs out there, it goes without saying that I made it to Germany as well. Though I suppose that I could be writing this from Ohio, or even from beyond the grave. Ooooooo...spooky. But I digress.
What happened next is going to be one of those moments that I look back on and think, "Yeah, I probably deserved that." After walking through Dulles International, a journey that I'm sure was long enough to force me to have crossed at least two time zones, I arrived at my gate. As I sat gabbing on my phone, I glanced around to take in my potential seat partner. There was the suspicious looking Arab family speaking in some language unknown to me, most likely planning my imminent death. There was the hot German boy sitting with his head cradled in his hands looking bored or maybe even stoned. There was the nervous looking woman who kept glancing around at anything that moved. And there was the requisite fatty. Now I know I'm not the slimmest person in the terminal, but at least I'm small enough to keep my entire body firmly placed within the confines of my seat.
This is where karma is about to bite me in the ass. While waiting for the plane to board I manage to get in conversations with at least a dozen people, if not more, and with each person I give them the rundown of fellow passengers. I was racist to the Arabs, lustful to the German, snotty to the paranoid lady and fattest to the fatty. Finally the plane begins to board and I think to myself, "Gee, maybe I should try to get an exit row." So off I go as everyone else crams in line to get on the plane. Right as I'm about to enter the line for the desk some Croatian (I learned this later) asshole runs in front of me and steps up to speak to the only agent at the desk. It seems he's having some trouble with his new wife and baby. I probably wouldn't have been so bitter about it, but he was hot. To hot to be straight, and that always annoys me. Plus he seemed to be taking an obscene amount of time. After what seemed like an eternity waiting there for straight-o to finish up and return to his wife, he finally does and as I'm about to approach the agent and ask for an exit row the bitch ass agent at the gate letting everyone one yells over to ask if there are any exit rows left. Bitch ass was informed that 27B fit that description and left me alone to ask my fateful question.
I really think as this point everyone knows what is going to happen here. I've set it up pretty good, and any fool with half a brain cell can figure out that I've just lost my exit row to bitch ass and the greedy seat stealer. Karma bites me in the ass for the first time. So after being informed by the agent, who by this time is a bitter shell of a human, that all the exit rows are taken and that there will be an ice cube's chance in hell of me having any space whatsoever I get on the plane.
Walking down the aisle I count ahead to see who I will be sitting by. My eyes scan past the paranoid woman and come to rest on the hot German...who is sitting directly behind me. Sitting in the seat which I have painstakingly reserved is the amazing 500 pound woman. All right, so maybe she wasn't really 500 pounds, but she was big enough to take up all of her seat and half of mine. Why do these people fly? One would think that the embarrassment of having to ask for a seatbelt extender or worse, having to pay for two seats would be enough to keep one's fat ass on the ground. This woman apparently felt no apprehension. Not only had she been able to ask for the extender with no shame, but she did not even give me a glance or a weak smile apologizing for her girth.
I could have complained. I could have been a gay bitch and raised holy hell until they put me in business class, but alas that was not how my momma taught me to act. Instead I put on a brave face, mentioned how it was going to be a rough ride seeing as how we both were "pretty big girls" and squeezed my ass in the half seat allotted to me. Thank the dear Lord above I just lost 20 pounds because I don't think any more of me would have fit. I chatted with her nicely until the first flight attendant went by. I asked politely if there might be another seat anywhere but she informed me, (a little rudely I might add) that the plane was overbooked, which is a whole other blog entry.
So I settled in and tried to make the most of it. We were informed by the captain that if we tuned our armrest to channel 9 we would be able to hear him conversing with air traffic control. Something I'm sure Miss Kuns will understand got my all hot and bothered. Of course I couldn't listen to the captain because 500 pounds of woman decided at that moment to ask me all about my life. And of course, instead of telling her to shut the hell up, I listened politely, nodding and answering her questions.
Taxing and takeoff were, thankfully, short, and soon we were ascending to 36,000 feet. This is where Karma bites me in the ass for the third time. While I do have my own very, and I do mean very, undersized TV screen, it is not like the screens on US Air and Northwest. On those two fine airlines one can pick from a wide selection of movies; stopping, starting, rewinding and pausing at one's leisure. United, however, feels that the best approach to movie watching is to play five or six movies, each on a different channel. The problem with this, outside that fact that my list of choices went from thirty to five, was that if you didn't catch the movie right at the beginning, or needed to get up to pee and missed a vital part, you were shit out o'luck until it played through again.
After my movie experience was soured, I wasn't holding out much hope for dinner. This, however, was where my luck began to change. Dinner was beef or pasta; I picked beef...low carb, you know. I also decided that though I would have to pay for it, wine was in order, so I ordered a glass of red. The flight attendant smiled, gave me my dinner and wine and went on her way. The beef was a little tough, and the potatoes were a little mushy, but the brownie was chewy and the salad was crisp. Shortly after finishing my dinner and chugging that last of my wine, I was tapped on the shoulder and informed by my new savior that she was going to try and find me another seat. I swear I saw heaven itself open up and God smiled down upon me. Soon another attendant, a woman who would become my second savior, told me that my new seat was 17F. I hadn't told 500 this info yet because I didn't want to jinx it, but at this point I let her know that soon we would both be having more room.
I looked towards the front of the plane and tried to figure out where row 17 was. I knew it was too much to hope for Business Class, but I hope I did just the same. I had to wait until the attendants were finished clearing away the dinner trays before I could be free from my prison. I stood and walked towards my new seat, scanning the row tags as I went. Now while my seat was not in Business Class, it was in Economy Plus in a front row. I looked over to see who my new traveling companions were to be and was greeted by the smiling Arab family. Great, I thought, now the bomb will sure and get me. Well at least I wasn't going to limp away from it, hideously deformed.
I stowed my things in my new overhead compartment and took my seat, stretching my legs and relishing my new-found space. I had just opened up the paper to the sodoku puzzle when savior #1 arrives with another glass of wine, which she gives to me with a wink. Things are looking up. Fast forward two hours and you find me watching the Family stone trying to cover myself with my sweatshirt because the Arab took my blanket and pillow for his baby. No I know that the baby probably needed it more than I did, I mean it isn't like it was some amazing bedding set, and to his credit every time my jacket got in his way and I pulled it back the Arab told me to not worry about it.
At this point I have determined that the only way sleep is going to come is with alcohol. So I get up, swing past 500 to pick up my pillow, which she was rudely using. And headed towards the rear to get liquored up. Upon my arrival I am greeted by my two saviors who are sitting in the aft galley chatting away. I ask for an amaretto on the rocks, and as I reach for my wallet they inform me there will be no charge. They want to make up for my bad luck. As savior #2 put it in her charming Australian accent, "It isn't you're fault you got that seat. It isn't like you gained all that weight. That and we really want to get you drunk." I thanked her and she added, "No worries." Which is possibly the cutest thing that Australians say, that and Billabong.
unfortunately the alcohol didn't help, and the lack of sleep was making my light headed. So I went to the bathroom to vomit, though all I really managed to do was sit on the toilet for 20 minutes. It could have been longer though, because when I came out the sun was shining and breakfast was about to be served. Over my morning meal of fruit, croissant and loads of coffee I learned that my Arab terrorist was in fact a Toyota salesman from Virginia who had fled Afghanistan in the 1980s and was returning for the first time in 20 years to see his homeland. I also discovered that they were still broadcasting air traffic control and that my new Afghan friend was just as interested in it as I.
In the end I suppose it wasn't such a bad flight, though never again will I fly so late. Alex can just get his ass out of bed at 5 am. My luggage arrived, nothing was broken, and I'm pretty sure the German government doesn't know I'm here, since my passport was neither scanned into Interpol or stamped at customs. I think that makes me an illegal alien. Oh well.
So that's it. It took me two days to write, but I did it. Don't expect another update for a while...I'm just too lazy.
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