Monday, July 20, 2009

Memoirs of a Jetlagged-sha 1

There is no two ways about it. Jetlagged or not, the first and foremost desire is to bitch. So here goes.

The flight started off really badly. The heavy flight traffic caused the plane to take off nearly an hour late and worse, I was seated beside some idiotic American man in his 50s. Burly and stocky, he insisted on taking over "my" right seat rest despite having two seats to himself in the middle of the centre block of the 747 flight. I could either stick out to my left and be knocked down by people walking down the aisle or food trolleys, or we can compromise and he moves a little to his right and I move to my left to the extent of not putting myself in mortal harm's way. But no, he can't. So we engaged in a tact elbow and shoulder battle throughout the entire flight from Singapore to Frankfurt. Trust me, we even stuck elbows into each other's midsections. And for jerks like him, he brings out the worst of me. I turned in my sleep and let off some air in his direction. He was completely non-receptive of any "kind" he gets. I was nice enough to not do anything beyond the sovereign airspace of the handle but he never knew to respect that. When he plonked himself onto that seat, he closed the overhead compartment! When I opened it, I realised he had two huge bags and on the huger of the two, he hung a PPS tag, suggesting that he is a First Class frequent flyer. But he certainly had no First Class EQ.

When I arrived in Frankfurt, I was pissed enough to complain to the airline representatives on the ground. They swapped me to another seat. And as I walk forward to the lavatory, I see the poor guy assigned the seat I last vacated, leaning out perilously because this f*ck*ng b*st*rd won't share.

... to be continued.

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