say hello to my little friend
June 22, 2011
I spent the last couple days in Sunny San Diego. Stay classy San Diego.
Anyway. On the return flight last night, because we have a travel budget that barely covers Greyhound, much less airfare, and we flew Southwest, we had to stop in Phoenix. Those of us going on to Salt Lake City stayed on the plane, and in that window of time after some get off and before some get on, we moved forward to, you know, improve our situation. And I ended up with the best seat in the house:
Look what I can do:
Try not to focus on my 8 chins, and just notice that it’s the exit row with no seat in front of me.
Except, now I’m suffering from PTSD, because once the plane re-filled, a young mother and her 2 year old kid sat behind me. From the moment he sat down, it was like sitting in one of those electric massage chairs. But not in a good way. Even with headphones, I could hear him yelling. Even when I leaned forward, I could feel him raising and dropping his tray table. If the flight hadn’t been only 74 minutes, I would have laid down in the empty space in front of me.
Look, here he is, like a poltergeist, over my shoulder:
I still see him, there, sometimes. I can hear him. I can feel him breathing on me.