At the time I left Boston, the plan was for me to return. That has changed. So this blog closes that chapter. Bummer …
In this heightened security era, of course I was at Boston’s Logan International Airport a couple of hours before my flight … and yes, I fired one up. A laptop, not a fatty! Dang … I didn’t even get a pat down. I digress …
At Logan, audio commercials were playing on the public address system touting the FREE Wi-Fi. Sounds like my kinda place. But when you log on to their hotspot, there is a catch. Not a big deal. The Wi-Fi is free, unless your time is money. You have to agree to watch one video ad.
Let me point out that making me watch an ad is both a good idea to pay for Wi-Fi free services, and well …. silly. When the ad plays … who is going to sit there and watch it? … I am sure most people merely open another window and upload some video and tweet or whatever. Or, like me, people may use the opportunity to strike up a bizarre conversation with a total stranger. I like that … a conversation with a time limit, since the ad only lasts 60 seconds. Well … wonder what the ad was selling. Regardless, thanks for the free Wi-Fi.
Logan Wi-Fi — free for the taking, supports free enterprise and not socialism, which true Americans prefer, and the connection was great allowing me to tweet my goodbyes, 6 pings.
Soon I was headed for my flight, which on this day was on US Air. … Wondered if the plane would have Wi-Fi. I remained hopeful, although this was a bad sign. I saw the pilot standing in the little tunnel to the plane, just offboard the jet. He was filching some Wi-Fi signal from Logan on his phone. But like I said, I remained hopeful.
I boarded and soon learned there was no Wi-Fi to be had. It got worse.
Of course I can’t fly without sitting by someone who doesn’t understand they get an allotted amount of space, which coincides pretty much with where their seat ends. Crossing over to my fly zone is akin to my 5-year-old sister putting her feet on my neck during a road trip back in the day … “Are we there yet?”
Ha … after I somewhat short/somewhat diplomatically gave the traveler “Courtesy 101” lessons about getting his elbow off of me … he retorted quite strategically “Well, this is going to be a fun flight.” My sentiments exactly, Mr. Space Stealer Guy:)
Listening to a podcast of New Pornographers on the plane, via iPad made the time pass a little quicker I must say.
I wondered, “Should I offer the dude some gum as a peace offering?” Ha … no way, he would want the entire pack. Yes. I was feeling guilty. I am a bad, bad man …
I survived without further incident and made a connection. Next step – Charlotte to Dallas.
Is it any wonder I don’t gamble when I am in Vegas? Call it bad luck or karma meltdown or whatever. But after complaining about a mere discourteous invasion of my air space on the first flight, for the second flight, there was an overall assault. On the way to Dallas, I was not sitting with just a large wannabe Dallas offensive lineman. I was sitting with a future superstar in the world of sideshow carneys — he could easily make a mint as the “500-pound Elvis boy.” (I am not exaggerating … except maybe about the sideburns …)
Bless his heart! I don’t mean to be mean. I felt really sorry for the kid in his late teens. But the harsh reality was he was 100 percent in his chair and 75 percent in mine too. That is too many percents! What could I do?
At first I sat down, mortified that I was going to have to dig around down there to find my seatbelt which was buried under a quarter-ton of bootay. The kid, with his Elvis sunglasses on top of his head and his black skull-covered attire did not budge. Maybe he couldn’t, being wedged in so tightly. He had one leg in the tight space in from of his seat. And the other leg was in the tight space in front of what was supposed to be my seat. He wouldn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence. Bless his heart, he was too embarrassed. Somehow, I wedged partially into my seat.
At least Elvis5X was not enduring this embarrassment alone. There was a tiny gray-haired old man, partially visible in the third seat in the row, pressed up against the window. What could I do? I was sitting there with my arse in my chair and his arse in my chair. My legs pinned up against his, and my upper torso was forced to lean, curving my spine toward the open aisle beside me.
After a few minutes of this, I squeezed out of the seat and motioned for a flight attendant to join me at the back of the plane. I spoke quickly and quietly to be discrete and I am pretty sure the flight attendant thought I was some sort of security threat. Quickly, I whispered to him that he had to do something. I could not fit into my seat, since it was unofficially occupied.
In all seriousness, I was a little worried whether that the plane might not fly right with a decidedly heavier load in one quadrant of the plane. (I kid you not, I saw something about this on some educational tv show …)
I was not optimistic about the flight or my seating outlook. And, did I say I felt so sorry for this kid and his poor old shriveled up companion? Well … I did until he followed up with the most socially unaware thing I have seen on a plane.
Another flight attendant came over to the pair and said their tiny dog, which had been totally undetected, obscured from view, had to go under the seat. “Was this a pet or take out?,” I had to ask myself. The two shuffled around. I was standing in the aisle beside them, just finishing up my negotiations with the staff for a seat to call my own, when the kid shoved his tiny dog in the little cage into the leg space that was mine, technically.
I almost came unglued, and that is not pretty.
The Elvis of Girth finally spoke. He said happily, “You won’t mind will you?”
Are you kidding me?
Ha. I am usually pretty easy going. But I have my limits and I can be blunt. Guess which Ping persona reared its ugly head at this point.
“Mind? Mind? Well of course I will mind. That is where I am going to attempt to squeeze in one of my feet.”
Both flight attendants rolled their eyes at the small man, large boy and jetsetting pet.
They seemed to have had their fill of the passengers from the previous leg of this flight.
The attendants talked a little bit more about the situation, saying that there was nothing they could do … which was awkward, as the boy listened in. They continued to watch each passenger still boarding the plane … everyone involved praying for an empty seat.
Finally the cabin was closed up, the last grandmother and grandfather teetered all the way, slowly, to the back of the plane and claimed the two empty seats in the vicinity of this little ticketing fiasco.
Darn the luck I thought. And then, the clouds cleared, a ray of sunshine came through the windows of the plane. I think there was an angelic choir singing outside … because miraculously, the attendants spotted an empty seat 10 rows forward.
“Darn the luck,” the one passenger in that almost empty row must have thought, as I moved in to what he thought was going to be an entire row to himself. I apologized and explained the situation, because i now felt sorrow for this guy. He had it made, and I was messing that up for him. The Big Boy Domino Effect, I called it. This poor man, no doubt, had been watching nervously for twenty minutes, in anticipation, hoping to get lots of room for his flight. I could relate, because I have had comfort ripped from my grasp before on many a flight.
I gave thanks one more time. Thank goodness I didn’t get seated by the passenger from my first flight. I would be forced to apologize to him and tell him what a lesson I had learned on tolerance. That guy was one row in front of me. Close call.
The rest of my flight was quite comfortable, although I cannot believe an airline that can magically sneak aboard a 500-pound Elvis boy cannot provide Wi-Fi.
Oh well … I was in a seat with a view and some leg room and everything … and then guess what?
It became readily apparent that one of my new travel companions was a HAF — a habitual airplane farter. Oh the life of a travel blogger.
Know what I saying?
