You pray for it to don't happen. You wish your hardest not to have to endure this. You think... I am a good person, I am full of love and peace, so this maybe, just maybe, will not happen. What am I bitching about? A bad airplane trip. Yeah, it sucks to travel sometimes.
Here's the true story.
I recently had to travel abroad. Nothing fancy, just a weekend stint. I honestly had a blast, did all that I needed and more. But the thing is... the ride on the way home was truly a life changing event. Let me give you the brief.
Terrorist attacks and plots in London and Glasgow. So now you know what will happen next, right? Airports are a pain in the anal cavity. Long lines, take off your shoes, no metal in your pockets. What is this liquid, madam? Eye makeup remover. Sorry, but it's over the mandatory 3 ounces, so you can't carry it on the plane because you will kill people. Say what? Am I going to remove so much makeup from people that they will go berzerk? Um. Yes madam. Well, keep it, like I give a shit. No need for attitude, ma'am. Sure. Have fun taking my things home, airport fuck.
Am I pissed off at that moment? Not at all. I am all smiles, with a small twist of sarcasm. I think to myself... no biggie, I am still going home and enjoying a nice ride.
Next step, getting on the plane. You look at the people that are riding with you and you think... Hey, this is not that bad! Not a drunk fuck in sight. Cool. Not a lot of crying kids. Perfect. The hostess calls for the first group, and I fall in that category. Perfect, I think. I am getting in line first.
I sit down at my seat and pray to God or any other higher power that no one sits next to me. God? Please, just let this one time be the moment where no one bought a ticket next to me so I can just go to sleep. Minutes pass, no one comes. I am all smiles. This is perfect.
Then...
The most smelliest, annoying, huge man announces that that's his seat. Then as he sits down it hits me. No, not the fact that God has forsaken me. The smell. Hard and in your face. That lovely smell that tells everyone "I didn't want to get in the shower tonight, so you can remember me all the way home". I roll my eyes. Maybe the plane is not full, I think. Maybe we can change seats, right? Just at that moment, the lovely and extremely sweet plane attendant speaks over the mic: please sit down as fast as you can, because this is a full flight. Lovely.
Seconds after the man sits down, my travel buddy asks me... what's that? Knowing full well that the person sitting me cannot understand me, I say in spanish: that's the smell of a human being. He rolls his eyes. I know, I tell him with my eyes. This is going to be a long ass flight. Huddle next to me, he says. Um. Dude! Smell travels a little more than a feet or two, I say. You're right, he says. We roll our eyes and smile. Oh well.
So what, you might think. So people smell from time to time, right? Yeah sure. We all smell like that IF WE WORKED ON A CONSTRUCTION SITE ALL DAY LONG. But getting on a plane? Come on. You're supposed to try to look and smell your best, because you don't want to piss off innocent bystanders. I just wanted to go to sleep. I thought. Maybe if you sleep, you might lose yourself in a nice hot steamy sex dream with an Sicilian man that smells terrific. Nah. My body doesn't want to cooperate. It's telling me: this guy smells. This guy smells. I try Yoga. Not working.
Hey, maybe you will get used to it, I think. So the first hour passes. Um. Not working. Hey, look at the positive side. He's not hacking aw... COUGH. COUGH. (Open mouth, thank you very much). God, what did I do to piss you off? COUGH. COUGH. Are you kidding me? Then, the award winner. Starts his cellphone, when you all know that you are supposed to turn it down. Jesus. Are you trying to tell me that the plane is going to drop from the sky because this smelly sick fuck decided to call up his aunt to tell her that he's on the plane? Am I going to die this way? Come on, I always wanted to die in a cool way. Let this please not be the way that my mother learns that I died.
COUGH. Scratch arm pits. COUGH. The ride was three and a half hours long, add to that the HOUR that the fucking plane decided to taxi around JFK because of the delay caused by terrorists. What, pray tell, is my point? Well. Take the movie theater rule. If your baby is crying, you have to leave the theater until the baby calms down. Why? It bugs people. If you are drunk, you can't get in a plane. They turn you down until you sober up. Why? It not only bugs people, it can make the flight a living hell. So... if those fucks get turned down... Damn it. In my book, if your Body Odor is acting up like a drunk guy or a crying baby... Get the hell of the plane. Wash. Put on a nice deodorant. Try some cologne. Then if we like it, you are good to go.
I arrived sick as hell. Fever. Sore throat. All thanks to that ride. What did I learn? There is something worse than your boss yelling at you for getting at the ad agency 5 minutes late. It's the smelly fuck who travels.
May you all never have to endure this. Live long, bathe and prosper.
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