Chris and I are on our second Southwest flight and we should be in Salt Lake City in an hour. Cool air. Whoop. I’ve been awarded free drinks on this flight for giving up my bulkhead seat to a paralyzed man in a wheel chair. I don’t ever sit at the bulkhead because you can’t store your bag under the seat. (Those overhead storage bins might as well be the cupboards over the refrigerator. Bring me a chair.) But when you’re traveling with a 6’8 friend, you sit anywhere there’s a bit more leg room. I hadn’t had time to buckle my middle seat belt before the lady in the window seat started quizzing me about my boot.
“Ooooh! I hope that’s nothing serious. How did it happen?!?– I mean, if it’s okay for me to ask.”
I should have told her I didn’t want to talk about it and buried my face in my hands. Instead, my “I’m a runner. Broke it running.” was enough to launch her into a tubercular monologue that ended with an account of her praying tearfully over her air conditioner with the air conditioning repair man.”
“I don’t know what (Cough-Hack) your religious beliefs are… or if you even have any,… (Cough-cough-hack) or what you think about praying for air conditioners…(Hack- cough).” She was cut off by the flight attendant asking one of us to give up our seat and move to a middle seat further back in the plane. She didn’t say why. She just said it was necessary. The faces of the five other folks at the bulkhead showed horror. It was fun to watch. (Chris, 6’8 with a pulled back muscle, had good cause for the expression. The others were lousy bulkhead hogs.) I was thankful for the chance to put some distance between me and Tubercular Talking Lady. “Oh, sure. No Problem!” The attendant was thanking me profusely and promising free alcohol when the paralyzed man was wheeled into view. I missed the expression on the four Bulkhead Hogs’ faces as I clumped away in my boot. (Easy to be smug and gracious when you’re 5 feet tall on a plane.)
Sadly it’s not quite noon and I don’t really feel like drinking.
9 1/2 hours in the backseat of Brian’s car after this. (Brian’s 6’5.)
I’ll update with stories of adventure and drama if we find any today.)
Update: this is the text I got from Chris when we landed:
I got stuck in middle and its nonstop! I know her whole medical history! You are dead to me.
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