A short story written at 35,000 ft

 Through virtually the entire boarding process there was just myself and a tiny old lady in our row. Having come to terms with my economy status and the flow of passengers having slowed to a halt I placed all my reading materials, BB and glasses on the empty chair between us. Sort of marking the territory; indicating that the seat may not be empty. I desperately needed to sleep on the flight having been up until 5am at a fund raiser in Palm Beach Gardens at the palatial home of my friends and clients the Healey’s. This was followed by the usual way too early wakeup call from the driver taking me to Miami airport for the last leg of this final trip before Christmas.

 Suddenly the plane listed to one side. People gasped. Levelling off as quickly as it had tipped, there she was. Eyes focused into a mid space somewhere up the aisle; she waded forward, struggling to squeeze between the aisle seats. The 3ft gap in reality was nowhere near wide enough. You could feel the collected bated breath of 200 passengers.  Everyone praying “don’t let it be me, please don’t let it be me”. 350 pounds of morbid obesity heading our way. I crossed myself but it was to no avail. Those deep set little piggy eyes had spotted me. This was her perfect spot… a larger than normal gap between a small weak man and a skeletal Floridian woman, she could own the centre ground.

By prising the back of the seats forward she created her path, her way in. The only thing she missed was to beat her chest. Once in front of the centre seat she turned and like a massive cartoon hen she hovered above her nesting place. I just watched open mouthed as first of all her rear end was sat on both arm rests at once and even a little beyond. Slowly the weight of the upper body was enough to sink the lower part down onto the cushion leaving a substantial roll over each armrest. Acting like a cookie cutter, the part of her filling the seat cavity must have formed a perfect square; all the dough being forced into each corner.

I wanted to tut very loudly but what was the point? The damage was done, she was in.

After takeoff in an attempt to use the loo, I went to get up but was jerked back into my seat . My cardigan was open and at some point during the lowering process one part of it had got sucked into the vacuum that had been created. This was going to be a problem. First of all to make her stand up was obviously going to involve heavy lifting equipment. Probably something like a winch, pulley and sling contraption that the AA most likely keep in the back for such occasions. The second thing was that she was snoring. God give me strength I pulled and pulled but the cashmere was stretching and becoming misshapen. There was only one thing to do; slip it off. First one arm and shoulder then the turn in a confined space then over the second shoulder, then out.

Managing this I got up climbed over the row in front (the only way out) and went to the loo. Repeating the climbing manoeuvre I returned to my seat. Now I realised it was chilly. At first I tried to cope with it but it was a futile effort.   I needed to put my cardigan back on!

Let’s just say Harry Houdini would have been proud of the contortion I pulled off pulling that cardigan back on . It made me sweat but despite this it was now staying on, still with one wing trapped, my movements now restricted for the entire rest of the journey.

Oh well only 5 more hours to go. I just hope the beast doesn’t get hungry when she wakes and wants to order food. She may have her own nose bag.

Like an unsuppressable turret’s tick, I won’t be able to stop myself from passing comment if she so much as opens her mouth when the feeding trolley goes by. Something to the tune of “Do you really think you need that?” Or “Haven’t you put us through enough already” or simply “Oh for fuck sake woman”.

I think I need to go to the loo again before we land.

Oh Lord please help me hold it in.

The End

SW