And so I’m now finally back in SG. I miss my room, comfy bed, big twin shower, 3 lil’ doggies, and of course my taitai. And I just indulged in the most awesomemest baby making shenanigans… oh yeah, dry spell over! *fist pump*
The return flight however to the land of the Lionmaid was far from pleasant. All these years, I’ve always championed the cause of fatties around the world. That they should be treated like equals and for them not to be required to purchase two seats. For what are these lovable lardicious strumpets if not just simple people like you and me? Fair enough they look like they eat people just like you and me… just as a snack… but that’s besides the point.
Fat people have feelings too (oh I just snickered… for shame Mez), and they don’t deserve the embarrassment of being slugged with a 2 seat financial penalty just for them to fly from point A to B.
However, after being in another of those “Oh god why me??!!!” predicaments yesterday, where I was stuck next to the biggest damn person on the flight, I’m tempted to change my mind. Oh god… WHY ME??!!!
Out of all the visible people on the flight, I see this huge guy, lets just call him Bob, rumpling down towards me from between the aisles. I looked at Bubble Bob and said to myself, as I usually do in these circumstances, “Man, I feel sorry for the poor bastard whom is gonna have his head buried in that guys stanky armpit…”.
Well once again, the cosmos, God or some higher power, those damn leprechauns, or Gargamel had decided to work their strange nefarious ways and screw me over again. Tractor Bob, because he rumbled down the aisles like a tractor, pulled up next to me like a drive through counter at MacDonalds.
“39 B…” uttered Balloon Bob, because he looked like a balloon figure that clowns make at kids parties. That was when my heart sank. Am I so unlucky as to be one of the two people on this flight that would be struck by the proverbial lightning? That lightning taking the form of one Jabba the Hut.
The smell of stale taco’s and nacho cheese (creative license exercised) washed over me as he attempted to pour himself into the my adjacent seat, the middle seat in a row of three. He not so much sat down, as much as displaced the fabric of the universe that happened to occupy that seemingly empty space. Somehow, it felt that he had occupied space that was part of me as well.
I looked over at Jabba bob, squirming and squeezing, trying to get comfortable in his seat, and I felt a pang of pity for him. The poor guy looked so uncomfortable. Imagine yourself trying to squeeze into a child seat, and that was what it looked the he was trying to do.
He wasn’t only fat, but he was big. I mean tall, big boned, the whole lot. He had legs like tree trunks and arms that looked like they could punch a hole through Superman. For once, I was thankful that I’m a small guy. Because he was so big, his body extended out in front of me, so when I was pressed back in my seat, my shoulder was kinda behind his, if that makes any sense.
Unfortunately, he also had rage issues. He seemed to have this chip on his shoulder, complaining constantly and randomly for the first few hours of the flight. He complained about the aircraft noise, asking the flight attendant why it was so and if there was anything they could do about it. My heart soared when he was told that there was another seat available, but the noise was the same, and sank when Burger Bob said it was pointless for him to move then.
He complained about the seats, complained about the tray table which he didn’t know how to work (which wouldn’t fit over his legs anyway), and just kept being pissy. Throwing his rubbish on the floor in front of where the flight attendant sits in a huff, and mumbling to himself constantly, calling the flight “a debacle”.
Yes…Gondwanaland Bob was such stellar company. Thankfully, I was on the aisle seat and as such, could curl up on my side and extend myself into the empty space beyond. By the way, after flying A380s for so long, I forgot just how small the damn 747 seats are. They swapped out my A380 with a 747 due to those engine issues. Damn you Rolls Royce… I hope you guys eat a dick in court.
So anyway, that was the story of Marshmallow Bob and me. Not the most pleasant flight, and definitely a good case for why fatties the world over should be granted 2 seats for the sake of the poor bastard next to them. As to who picks up the tab for this, I don’t know. Maybe they should just dazzle them with a Happy Meal at the check-in counter so that they will sign payment for two seats with no hesitation in their lustful burger frenzy.