Saturday, July 21, 2007

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking.

I've chosen my airplane seat carefully, avoiding other passengers while still retaining my preference for the window seat. I don't know when I've flown not in a window seat.

As I make my way toward my seat, I notice that a trio of preteen girls has taken over the row, one of them in my seat. I look her in the eye and shake my head.

"But I'm in Row 47," she tells me innocently.

"You're in 47A," her friend points out. "Not 47F."

"Oh," she says. None of them move.

I stand there for a moment, trying to figure out just how bitchy I want to be. 47A is an AISLE seat. I sigh. "Just stay. I'll take your seat so you can sit with your friends."

They resume their chattering without a word of thanks. Typical overindulged ingrates.

I realize what a long flight this is going to be as I take my new seat. Now, I've never been described as dainty, slender, or petite. Neither, quite obviously, has the woman sitting next to me. She is teetering precariously on the border of Needing To Purchase Two Seats. I've always felt badly for those people. But that was in the past, before the armrest between us, designating her seat from mine, became moot.

And then I notice the leg touching. You know the feeling you get when you're in the early throes of a relationship, and as you're sitting, watching a movie, your legs touch the slightest bit? And you're so thrilled it's all you can think about? Does he know our legs are touching? Did he do it on purpose? Does this mean he likes me and we're going to get married in a lavish, yet simple ceremony surrounded by 300 of our closest friends and loved ones?


I'm very uncomfortable with incidental contact with people I don't know. And even most people I do know. So instead of being able to really focus on the factors a court will look at when reviewing the decision of an administrative law judge, I am completely fixated on the fact that this stranger's leg is touching mine. There is nowhere to go. I can't even hunch over into the aisle because the flight attendants are serving beverages like it's their job [incidentally], and I risk losing a toe or having my shoulder dislocated by getting in their way.

So I'm fairly crabby by the time I deplane. But then 3 people tell me they love my yellow Ralph Lauren suitcase, LSB's dog pees on her lap, and I am reassured, with mainly firm statistical evidence that I will, in fact, pass the Bar.

Things begin to look up.


Kyle said...

Well, maybe it was an ok week to stop sniffing glue.

S said...

I knew I could count on you, Kyler.