Flight

There are 18 rows, with 6 seats per row, 3 on each side of the aisle. There is only about 6 Ð'Ð... feet between the ceiling and the floor. This provides more than enough room for me as I am barely 5 foot 2 without my heels. The upholstery of the seats looks as though it was brought over on the Mayflower with its bland taupe color and heavy staining from years of use. The fiber of the seats is course and uncomfortable. There is also a strange acrid odor that seems to emanate from somewhere deep within the seats; a mixture of ancient sweat and various perfumes.

As I sit down into the seat, the abrasive fabric washes away any thoughts of a relaxing flight. The harshness of the cloth can be felt through my black slacks. The galling texture seems to penetrate right through to my skin. I can feel a rash forming on my legs, the kind you would expect to see in medical journals that illustrate some sort of itching disorder. As I patiently sit in the cramped space that has been provided, I imagine that the rash is spreading from the back of my legs and torso to the rest of my body, which up to this moment has been healthy and free of any rashes, boils, eczema, or any other sort of foreign skin affliction.

I squirm in my seat, trying to find a position that will relieve the disturbing itchy, achy, burning sensation which is crawling up and down and around my body. As the other passengers flit down the narrow aisle to their assigned seats, they subtly look over to me in a sympathetic manner which seems to suggest that they commiserate.

The blonde haired stewardess walks down the aisle and appears to be counting the passengers. Once finished, she announces that although we are scheduled for take-off now, there are maintenance issues which must be dealt with and that she will keep us appraised of the situation. A quiet grumble rolls through the aisles from the passengers at this revelation. The navy blue clad stewardess appears to be just as unhappy about the unexpected news as we are.

Since I am held captive in this plane, I try again to reposition myself which is turning out to be a rather arduous task that is being made more difficult by the passengers to my immediate left and right. I soon realize that nothing I do will make this seat more comfortable, so I give up and try for a snooze to pass the time. I am soon transported from this agonizing confinement to a far more pleasing place.

I dream of warm, smooth sand under my feet. Of a cool refreshing breeze across my face and a comfortable lounger. Just as I am dozing in my dream, I am startled awake from my temporary slumber by the man sitting to my right.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Um, yeah, it’s about 7:20 AM.”

I am surprised that it is so late;

...