The horrors of flying

After a happy, fun (Regardless of my car breaking down) vacation in the States, the time had come for me to return to Bamberg (home of the barking/howling neighbor's dog). I dreaded saying G'bye. I hate Goodbyes and will cry typically EVERY time. My parents took me to the airport, and as I hugged them bye (quickly) I kept from making too much direct eye contact with them while in line for security. Just to keep the tears harnessed.

My flight was at 10:40pm (And getting through security was a breeze, and NO body scan for me! I dodged it somehow and only had to go through the metal detector.)
I made it to my gate with time to spare, enough time to read People Magazine's Kate extravaganza. In the back of my mind I was silently willing my seat (24A) to be on the aisle.
When the time to board came, we were supposed to be called by row, but around row 35, people threw caution to the wind and it became a free for all.
In front of me was the ugliest Dutch child I'd ever seen. He was blond with curls galore, and looked like something you'd find down in Whoville. It was hate at first sight. He was already throwing a fit. Which set the tone for badness.
I kept willing the parents to take charge of their...spawn, as he kicked and bucked and generally acted like a wild chimpanzee.
Still in my preboarding state, I was still silently begging the Royal Dutch for an aisle seat. (I like the aisle better than the window because a) getting up and taking a stroll is MUCH easier when you don't have to crawl over the sleeping. b) what's to see out the window but endless miles of Ocean?  PLUS the shades will be closed to create a night effect. (right?)

Sumie and I aren't elite, and we don't fly 'Business Class'. We slum it with the others in Economy..but guess what? the "Business" don't get there any faster than us...and it's a party in the back.

Anyway, I finally get on board, and begin the seat hunt. There it is, in all it's cramped glory 24A..window seat. SERIOUSLY?
I put my back pack overhead and the 3 JERKS (with the hard core body odor)  in the row in front of my row have their seats reclined.
Aisle Seat guy, smug with the pride of my coveted seat gets up for me to get in. I have to situate at an angle thanks to the 3 in front of us. I sit and think "I bet I will have to pee 20 mins into the flight and Mr. Aisle seat will be snoring."
Then, despite how packed the flight already is, I think, BUT, maybe just maybe the middle seat was unbooked giving me and aisley some elbow room.
Much to my disappointment, what should appear but a little man. A little man who looked more like a character than an actual person. In his 50's he had a mustache that was well manicured and blonde, a pot belly, and light brownish blondish hair. He completed his look with khaki pants and a striped shirt.
I sighed.
He sat down and completed our sardining.
"Looks like we're in for the long haul."  He was talking ot me.
I smiled weakly. Just to be nice. He took that to me "PLEASE talk non stop to me."
"Amsterdam your final stop?" He said as he unwrapped his giant burrito.
"No. I'm going to Germany." I said.
"Whoa-ho-ho...where in Germany?"
"Nurnberg."
"So, what you're going there to visit? Or..."
Was this man with the census or something?
"My husband & I live in Germany."
"Wow." He said chewing his black beans "How come you live there? What is he in the military or something?"
I nod. Watching his mustache move with each chew. I didn't realize mustaches move but they do.
"Wanna know where I'm off to? Bahrain."
He didn't even give me time to guess. "Oh. awesome." I responded flatly.
"Not really awesome" he said coughing in my total direction "They are in the middle of ramadan."
"Oh. Ok."
I put my headphones on and was tuning into an episode of The Office.
"Wanna know something about Ramadan?"  He asked right over the theme music.
"No." I said to him, which is odd because I never am rude.
"Well..." he said continuing to tell me about a holiday I really am not interested in.

Meanwhile in front of me? Yeah the guy with the window seat had his shade open. Not that he could see much at night. A flight attendant came by and said "Sir, I need to ask you to please close your shade. We will be in daylight in an hour and we need to keep it dark in here for those who want to sleep."
He ignored her.
An infant began to wail.
About 20 mins later, Mustache man was still chatting it up, baby was still mournful and another flight attendant came by to ask B.O. to shut his shade. "Sir, You NEED to lower your shade. We will be in daylight in less than an hour." He lowered it to half.
I tuned into Modern Family as dinner arrived (WORD to the wise, NEVER when given the choice, go with the fish.)
Another flight attendant asked B.O. in front of me to lower his shade immediately. He lowered it, only to lift it again when she walked away.

I put the music on to drown out the sounds of that very disgruntled infant, Mr. Mustache (who in addition to scarfing down his burrito also cleaned his airline dinner. Commenting that the potato salad was 'amazing.'
 It was about that time that I started to smell the raunch odeur of cheese. Old moldy cheese. Limburger.
Mustache had taken off his shoes...and for the record was WIGGLING his toes. To spread the stinch.

I fell asleep to the sounds of Adele, only to wake to the stinch of sheer...farts... and blinding sunlight.

Here is something you should know about me...given the wrong circumstances, I wake up ready to throw down in fisticuffs.
I look over at mustache. He is sleeping sideways in his chair. Butt aimed and firing right at me.
Black beans.
I look in front of me, sunlight pouring in from the B.O. in front of me. He was obliviously snoozing.

I did something I'm not proud of, but come to think of it, I'm not ashamed of either. Blame it on the sunlight, the cheese feet, the gaseousness, being trapped in a window seat....

But I shook the back of the chair of B.O.
I shook it hard.
Hard enough to rouse him from slumber. He sat up with a look of sleep induced confusion. I smiled. Then I promptly faked sleep so he wouldn't know it was me.
When he drifted off, I shook it again.
I'm so mature.
During my shaking extravangza...Mustache rolled over to face me. Mouth open, burrito smells whafting not only from his rear, but from his mouth too. He coughed and hacked in his sleep all while facing me.

When we landed I wanted to kiss the floor of Schipol. Except I just went to the bathroom to apply some Secret, since there is no A/C in that airport.

On the 2nd flight, a nervous flyer was sitting in my seat by his wife. I took his seat, and thankfully it was an aisle seat, but that flight was only 55mins, so it wasn't that necessary. I look to my right, there was a german man, calmly reading his newspaper, picking his teeth.
He then inspected his tooth residue on his finger and promptly ate it.
I thought..."Well, I'm back in Europe."

Finally after 55 minutes of ignoring my tooth picking neighbor, I made it to Nurnberg only to see my sweet sweet husband's smiling face.
It is good to be home.

And now? Yeah, I caught whatever junk Mr. Mustache had, and so I'm coughing and hacking all over this apartment.