Nightglow Window

Life In The Red Zone

Throughly freaked out about traffic, I leave the hotel at 6:00 a.m. for my 9:20 a.m. flight and arrive at Hartsfield with oodles of time to spare. But I'm too dumb to spend the time upgrading to a better seat, even though I know I've been pitted at the back of the plane.

It's boring to complain, but the flight home reached an awfulness of such epic proportions that I can't let it pass. Seat 31C is the worst possible seat on a 737, the only one that receives the dreaded "red" rating on SeatGuru.com. For the four hours and 25 minutes we were in the air, there were only about 60 minutes when an ass wasn't in my face. Yep, the line for the lavatory began where I was -- and I had the smells to prove it. I cocooned with my iPod and Bose headphones, closed my eyes and crossed my arms, put my best "don't fuck with me" face on, but it was no use.

I know there wasn't really any other option for my fellow passengers, but when a huge black lycra ass spilled over into my seat, literally going butt cheek to face cheek, I found myself brandishing an elbow before I even knew what I was doing. "Uh, sorry..." I stammered when the rotund 50ish housewife turned on me, scowling. "Your ass is huge and I don't like it in my face and you really shouldn't be wearing Lycra anyway," is what I really wanted to say, but I just gave a weak smile as another wave of bathroom gas wafted over me.

Sigh.