I don't make a secret of the fact that I do not like ill-behaved children.
I also don't make a secret of the fact that I do not like flying (in planes - as opposed to jumping off a cliff with makeshift wings).
When the two are combined, I become one cranky, cranky person.
I recently attended a conference in San Diego (more on wonderful San Diego in a future post). I had to fly since driving or walking from Buffalo doesn't really work.
I make every effort to get to the airport early enough to try to get an exit row seat (I am assured of an aisle seat when I book the damn tickets). This particular flight didn't have an exit row, but I did have my aisle seat.
Did.
I was seated as comfortably as one can be seated on a plane made for little people, and had just read the safety instructions on the card contained in the seat pocket in front of me, when a family of four comes to my row with seats for three. I thought, "There must be some mistake." No.
The father asks me if I would mind sitting in a window seat.
My first thought was, "Um, yes, moron, or I would have requested one." He then tells me that it is in row five (I am in row 19) and that it's just behind first class. I don't care if it's behind the bar. I don't have access to first class, nor would I have access to the bar.
I told him that I really wanted my aisle seat. Then he told me that he has a family and a baby.
I was about to say, "Well, think about family planning next time," when the little baby started screaming!
I couldn't' get to the window seat fast enough!
Turns out the window seat was in the row directly behind first class - the first row in coach. That is even better than an aisle seat! I was secretly thankful, though I wouldn't have admitted it.
As a caveat, the other reason I like an aisle seat is because I have the world's smallest bladder! My mother used to joke that I had to check out every bathroom enroute to anywhere. She didn't think I ever had to go, I just liked looking at bathrooms.
As a note - I do not like bathrooms. They are stinky, dirty places. I don't even really like my own bathroom because it requires that I clean it. When I request a stop at a bathroom, it's because I actually have to use it. I don't hang out in bathrooms (take that, mom).
I was quite tickled that I had to use the bathroom only once on a six hour flight. I am quite sure that has never happened before.
This is what happens when someone who is 5'11" tries to get out of a window seat with no seat in front of her to hold onto for support.
I tried to stand, to no effect. Then I tried to duck while facing the wall separating coach and first class. That didn't work because then my flat arse was in the faces of my two seatmates. That is never a good idea, particularly since I also have gas all the time. Then I turn to face my seatmates. I manage to get over the girl who was sitting next to me by just kicking her foot. That tossed me off balance enough that I almost gave the guy in the aisle seat a lap dance. While some may like that, I am guessing he was less than keen on having me sit in his lap while apologizing for being there, fully clothed, with stinky breath and a full bladder.
On my way to the bathroom, I had to pass the family who took my seat. They looked cramped and uncomfortable.
I smiled.
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