The Great Plane Lottery

I’m on a plane, heading for a long flight across the country. The plane looks like it will be full, but it may have a few open seats. I’m in the isle seat, and a guy approaches me to occupy the window seat. I get up to allow him to sit, conversing with the minimal amount of talking and eye contact possible.

This leads to the great plane lottery. The lottery establishes how the middle seat in the row will determine my level of enjoyment on the flight. If I’m a big winner, the middle seat will remain unoccupied. I will be able to stretch my legs and may be able to catch a little sleep. If I’m the big loser, an obese, sweaty man will occupy the middle seat who will use the flight to sell me life insurance or convert me to Mormonism or tell me in exhausting detail about his antique flour container collection.

Then there are degrees in between. Slightly better than the sweaty man is the old woman who frequently uses the phrase, “back in my day.” I used to think that the next best thing to having an empty seat next to me on the plane is to have an attractive woman who I could flirt with and maybe convince to join me in the mile-high club. Then I realized that I don’t live in a porn movie. Women don’t fly across country hoping to hook up in a tiny bathroom with a dumpy guy who farts every time the pressure changes.

If the middle seat has to be occupied, let it be filled by some quiet, thin man who smells neutral and doesn’t seem to care about my farts. Also, he has a bladder of steel and never needs to use the bathroom.