If you’re like me or want to be like me, then the following may apply:
While waiting to board any flight, it is essential that you scan the waiting area and pick out the people you think are worthy of sitting next to you.
Then you pick out the people that will probably end up seated next to you.
Once you’ve successfully passed the cursory glance at your passport station, you quietly and efficiently take your seat. Then the dangerous game begins.
You hold your breath as the trolls drag and thump themselves down the aisle toward you and thankfully past you and your lovely window seat.
Oh man, look at this one! There’s no way I could possibly put up with this. If he stops or makes any movement toward that middle seat next to me, I’ll signal one of the freshly scrubbed flight attendants and they’ll immediately spot the mix up and get rid of him.
Ah, he’s gone past. I’m safe.
But wait, it seems like he can’t read or follow the complex sequential row numbering system. He backs up and harumphs his way down beside me.
Without exaggerating, he was a lovely mix of both Hagrid and the homeless guy I try to dodge every day on my way to work. Anything 7 feet tall and sporting a bushy beard is a hard sell for being attractive. The good thing was that he smelled like a man half his size.
Wouldn't a lummox like this would feel more at home in the cargo hold? A petite young thing sat on the aisle seat and we both nestled into the caverns of his armpits.
I earnestly began avoiding even sideways glances at him, one because I couldn't see around him and two, I was scared I might spot signs of new life in his beard. This strategy worked wonderfully and got me home without any further incident.
Oh, and when he slopped bits of chicken sandwich? It was all over the poor girl’s leg on the other side of him and not on mine.