Flight Passengers, Chardonnay and Sushi

Imagine this guy in the middle seat. Yeah. I got to sit next to him. Image from here. 

I was just trying to get to San Francisco. It all started when the TSA thought I had a pocket knife on me at SeaTac - note to self: Don’t bring purses with big metal emblems when traveling again. Thanks to the designers at Guess for making security even more of a hassle.

Then, once I finally boarded the plane, I sat next to a guy who really should have purchased a second seat, rather than convincing himself that he could still wedge into the middle seats in coach. But that was only the first of my issues with him - he decided he was going to rest his laptop on his belly and proceeded to type hunt and peck with his elbows directly out to each side (I wish I were exaggerating). If I ever had a personal bubble to begin with, he ensured it was non-existent by the time I left. No matter how far I kept edging my seat back or smashing up against the window, his elbows still managed to make contact with me. He also had restless leg syndrome and kept jittering his foot on my foot. My eye was twitching. Bad.

Then he kept insisting that Lady Gaga was 47 years old, which even though I could care less about Lady Gaga, he was just speaking out of his ass which was yet another strike against him. Seriously? 47? Have you heard of The Google? Try 25. Yeah. You’re off by 22 years.

At one point, he actually turned to me and said, “What a beautiful day to fly!” What I should have said in response was, “For who?! Thanks for being the second worst person I’ve ever sat next to on a flight.” Instead of, “I know, right?” (My inner-valley girl comes out if I’m super annoyed).

The absolute worst person I sat next to during a flight required wine and sleeping pills to survive. It was a 10-hour non-stop flight to London. B.O. and a barfing baby will do that.


He then decided to squish me even more by trying to stick his laptop in the seat pocket in front of him. He could barely get his legs open to reach the freaking thing. Once he achieved his arduous goal, he turned to me and said, "Can you remind me not to forget that?" Suddenly, I've been enslaved as his freaking administrative assistant. WTF?!


Then, some other unfortunate soul decided to go nuts at the Costco food court and eat seven polish dogs before boarding the plane. If it was possible to crop dust by burping, they achieved it. I couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from, but it seemed to linger in front of my face for an inhuman amount of time. Only my dog’s bowels can achieve that kind of legacy. This person’s mouth needed an enema. It was probably Lady Gaga’s biggest fan, but I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt on at least one offense.

On a brighter note, once I made it safely to San Fran, I was delighted to find a gratis welcome bottle of chardonnay in my hotel room. I did the logical thing and attempted to open it with a paper clip before spotting the wine bottle opener. I was that desperate, and clearly not as skilled as MacGyver - I skipped the whole wine glass thing, took a swig straight from the bottle, and then proceeded to spill wine all over my pants. And of course, I was to meet my boss in the lobby in twenty minutes. I was worried I would reek of chardonnay. Luckily, he didn’t notice (or he at least didn’t say anything). Now I’ll be contacted by the Care Network saying that an anonymous source was concerned about my drinking problem. Oh well. At least we got sushi.

We ate the best sushi of my life at Ryoko’s Japanese Restaurant and Bar. It’s on the corner of Taylor and Sutter. If you ever find yourself in downtown San Fran, GO HERE. I command you. You won’t regret it. I had an insanely delicious dragon and tiger roll and lots of tuna sashimi! To top it off, dessert was tempura ice cream! My inner-fat kid rejoiced and the world was a happier, brighter place. And I got to use one of my five Japanese phrases I know (You’re Welcome). Grandma would be proud! (I should have said phrase 2 of 5 - oishides - this is delicoius!).

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but sushi cures all. Except it might accidentally trigger a chain reaction...like this one time...the week is still young - yikes!