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“I drink one almost every day.” He laughed.
After reaching the airport and enduring a long line, I handed my passport to the pretty agent behind the counter.
She held up the document, comparing it to my face. “Did you have a pleasant stay with us, Mr. Benson?”
“Yes, just shorter than I wanted.”
She typed on her keyboard. “It always seems that way, doesn’t it?” She hit a few more keystrokes. “How many bags will you be checking?”
“Just the one.” I hefted my bag onto the scale.
A minute later, she handed me my boarding pass in a folder. “Gate ten. Boarding will begin at three-oh-five.”
Only after she handed me the envelope did I notice the error. The seat assignment said 31B. I handed it back. “There must be some mistake. This should be first class.”
She took it back and clacked the keys again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Benson, the flight is completely full, and it was booked as coach.”
I’d never flown economy. Hell, I’d only flown commercial once as a kid, and I would definitely be having a chat with Libby when I got back.
“At the gate, you can put yourself on the wait-list for an upgrade,” she offered.
I took the envelope back and headed for security. Damned Libby. What had I done to deserve this?
At the gate, the agent took my name, but the look on his face was clear: fat chance getting into first.
Since the flight was connecting at JFK instead of Miami, it would be more than five hours of torture, and a middle seat no less.
I hung out at the gate ’till the last minute, hoping one of the first-class passengers would be a no-show. No luck.
It was raining when I walked to the plane. The airport was old school, with stairs to board instead of a jetway. By the time I reached the door, I was soaked.
“I’m sorry, sir. All the overhead bins are full. Your bag will need to be checked.”
I relinquished my roller bag to her, bound for the belly of the plane. When I reached my row, things got even better.
I wasn’t a small guy, but I was a shrimp compared to the man in the window seat. The middle seat was going to be a tight fit.
Granny seated on the aisle got up to let me in.
Just as I buckled myself in, the window guy let out one stinker of a fart.
With the narrow seats, I was forced up against Granny’s side, and my knees hit the seat in front of me as well.
Libby was definitely going to pay for this.
Granny pulled out a bag of Cheetos and started munching. “Like some?”
I declined.
Fart Guy let loose another one.
All I could do was breathe through my mouth and concentrate on reading my iPad. After we took off, the cabin cooled down considerably, and my shivering made it difficult to hold the device steady enough to read. Shutting down the overhead vent helped, but the real problem was my wet clothes, and without my bag, I had nothing dry to put on.
Fart Guy detonated again, and I had to decide between the cold and being able to breathe. I chose fresh air and opened the overhead vent again. My clothes would dry out sooner or later.
Granny seemed oblivious to the smell, and after consuming a second bag of Cheetos, she fell asleep against me.
It wasn’t until later that I noticed the orange drool adorning my shirt sleeve.
