Killer Ending

So, my brother-in-law dropped me off at the airport yesterday morning to fly back to San Diego.

I got out of his car and started to walk across the pedestrian bridge that leads to the terminal (an odd choice of terms if you ask me for a place so fraught with terror for many) and I suddenly realized that I didn't have my phone.

So I thought, "Ok, I'll just call him...oh, wait...I don't have my phone. Duh!"

It was right about then I remembered a device from antiquity known as the "pay phone," and set out in search of one thinking, "I'll just call him on a pay...oh, wait...I don't have any change."

So I bought a useless pack of gum—I don't chew gum and haven't for quite some time—for the express purpose of having two quarters in my possession so I could place the call.

I found a pay phone.

It didn't work.

I found another one.

It didn't work either.

I found another one.

It worked.

It worked so well it ate my precious quarters and wouldn't allow me to make the call!!!!

(And, yes, I DID, in fact, just use FOUR exclamation points!)

Here’s a few more for good measure!!!!!!!!

A little notice appeared on the pay phone’s digital screen thanking me for using Century Link. Whadda ya’ know about that? Polite crooks!

So, I found another pay phone purely by chance that accepted credit cards and started to call him when I thought, "Oh, wait...I don't know his number!"

By now I was nearly in panic mode, thinking ridiculous thoughts like taking a taxi back home in order to retrieve my phone, when I realized that I could call my wife in San Diego and have her call my brother-in-law and have him bring the phone back.

So, I called her and said, "Hey, I think I..." and she cut me off with, "Yes. He knows and is trying to find you."

As I was just about to ask her to call him and tell him I'd meet him at the passenger pickup area, he tapped my on my shoulder and handed my phone to me.

I could've kissed him!

I'm telling you right now that when you are leaving town for several days and realize you are without your cell phone, it messes you up! I'm talking the big leagues of messed up! Helplessness assails your senses leaving you reeling with insecurity and isolation.

And, no, I'm not overstating the case!

Phone firmly in hand, I called my wife back to inform her that all was well and that I was headed for my gate.

Passed through security in five—that's FIVE minutes, people—and walked about a mile and a half.

Got to the gate area and couldn't find my flight!

Upon checking the departures screen—which, for the record, one should absolutely do upon arrival at the airport—I learned, to my utter dismay and consternation, that my flight was not, in fact, leaving from the C gates, but from the B GATES!!

No idea how to get to the B gates!

I asked an oh, so helpful TSA agent how to get there and he told me—barely hiding a smirk—that I had to go back the mile and a half I'd just walked, and then go a little further and I'd find them, "No problem."

Right.

So I walked. 

And walked some more.

And...well...you get the picture.

Needless to say that by the time I got to my gate I was in a full sweat and ready to do substantial bodily harm to anybody foolish enough to give me any more trouble. Fortunately, I had a low number and was able to board in the first boarding group; got a great seat—on the aisle—with no one in the middle seat.

It was a full flight but after everyone was on the plane, the seat was still empty.

And then, HE came down the aisle.

All 5'6" and 350 lbs of him.

There were two seats left on the flight: The one next to me and another right across the aisle...both middle seats.

A woman was right behind him.

She did NOT weigh 350 and I really started hoping in earnest that she'd sit in the middle seat in our row.

The man looked them both over, and, for reasons known only to the gods of flying, chose to sit...you guessed it...by me. 

There was no, “Hey, do you mind if I squeeze in there?” or, “Excuse me, but that looks like the only seat.” Noooooo...he just stepped over me without a word before I could even get up to allow him—ALL of him—to pass, brushing his quite enormous bottom against my face in the process, an experience that I am quite sure will leave me emotionally scarred for what’s left of my life!

Now, when I say, "sit," I use the term only in the most liberal of definitions. Mainly, what he did was sprawl! I had to spend the entire flight turned sideways in my seat with my back to the rude interloper to keep from being crushed!

His elbows didn't just occupy the armrests of the middle seat...they intruded into HALF the space of MY seat!

Lest you get the wrong idea, it wasn't his size that was the issue, for I've flown with people far larger than he with no problem whatsoever. I once flew from Las Vegas to Florida in the window seat with a man and his wife as seatmates, each of whom were north of 400. Had a great time.

The problem with this man was the way he exercised complete and utter disregard for me and the other poor unfortunate in the window seat who, to the best of my knowledge, didn't survive the flight but was assimilated into the molecules of the fuselage.

I may or may not have made that last part up.

I looked with naked longing at the row across the aisle where the three occupants were chatting amiably; sprightly laughter echoing throughout the cabin, each with plenty of room; enjoying themselves immensely.

It shames me to admit it, but I began to hate my seatmate! I mean, I was hanging so far out into the aisle that the flight attendants had to excuse themselves to get around me.

And then...he went to sleep! I’m fighting for survival, and he goes to sleep! Noisily.           

Mercifully, after what seemed an eternity of days the flight ended and I thought my suffering was over...sadly, he had one more rude surprise left for me. As soon as the plane docked at the gate, he sprang up out of his seat and bulled his way past me—big bottom and all—without so much as a, "Beg your pardon," and stood in the aisle blocking my exit.

Now, those of you who know me know that I am often easily frustrated, and when frustrated have been known to yell, punch things, throw things, act in an inappropriate manner. However, I controlled myself and simply decided to let the situation play itself out.

I looked across the aisle...they were still laughing! Ha, ha, ha...laughing, and carrying on as if they didn't have a care in the world.

I began to hate them too...but only for a few minutes. Eventually, I figured, "Hey, I'm going to be in San Diego for three days. It's worth it."

And then, instead of "walking" up the jetway, he sort of, well, moseyed. You know what I'm talking about: That slower-than-molasses-in-winter-I've-got-the-rest-of-my-life-to-be-in-front of you walk? 

Like that.

I don't have a killer ending to this story...because, I didn't kill him. 

So, I've got that going for me.

Which is nice.

And, how was your day?