An open letter to the man who took up half of my seat on the flight to Atlanta:
Dear Grease Ball,
You owe me $300. You took up approximately 1/3 of my seat and should therefore reimburse me for 1/3 of my ticket. This should help compensate for most of your left thigh, a healthy portion of your love handles and the meaty portion of your upper arm flattening me against the window with the grease spots from someone's nose on it. I"m also certain that your Huxtable sweater was made entirely of allergens based on the number of times I sneezed in a 4.5 hour period.
And I appreciate that you turned your earphones way the fuck up so that I could hear whatever you were watching since the sound on my in-seat video system didn't work. I really enjoyed that sit-com about the dysfunctional family and their relatable problems. It really helped the time just fly.
But what I really appreciated was your help with exercising my lung capacity. Your exotic aromas of bad hygiene and cheap cologne inspired a new record for holding my breath. I didn't have a Guinness Book handy, but if I did, I probably would have celebrated my beating the record with a $6 individually-sized Ernest and Julio Gallo Merlot.
And when we landed and were stuck on the tarmac for 20 minutes, I thoroughly enjoyed the play by play you gave to your "darling lover girl" that included every minute detail of all the JUST SITTING THERE that people were doing. Obviously the climax came when we finally stopped and you, in your delightful Long Island, was-totally-an-extra-on-The Sopranos accent concluded the tale of travel with how they turned the lights on that people were getting up. I was so riveted, I couldn't take my eyes off your carefully coifed combover.
So thank you, horrible seat buddy. Thank you for enriching my life with way too much information about your own. In fact, I have enough to go on that I'll most likely be able to figure out where to send the bill for the $300 smackers.
Cheerio,
Kara
9 months ago