Well, let me roll up my sleeves and give my handful of loyal readers something new today. I hope you're not eating while reading this.
Bryan and I were on a walk tonight and we ended up talking about the flight home from NYC. (Can you see our trip is going to be a running theme, at least for the time being? Apologies in advance). It was, literally, the WORST. FLIGHT. EVER. Oh, but not for us--for the girl in seat 24F. You see, Chicago was experiencing very high winds the evening of the 7th and our flight was delayed about 3 hours. Flights couldn't land because of the weather so we were waiting our turn to make it back to, appropriately enough, the Windy City. They finally announced that we could board the plane and Bryan and I popped our Dramamine, also known as Satan our 'insurance policy'. So naive. . .so naive. Sigh. Anyway, we had the center seat and the aisle. Bryan took the aisle since his legs are long, and I was cozy inbetween him and an early twenty-something blonde, lip-glossed girl with trendy clothes listening to her ipod. Oh you guessed it. She was seat 24F.
We took off and there was turbulance right out of the gate. The poor Dramamine didn't even stand a chance. We were bouncing up and down and my stomach kept dropping. I started to feel hot and sweaty so I turned my individual a/c unit on full blast. This didn't help at all. In fact it was more of an annoyance since it dried out my contacts but I wasn't able to focus on that, as I was too worried about dying puking on the plane. I felt the color drain from my face and my mouth started to water. I could tell my body was going through the preliminary vomiting check-list and that the inevitable was coming, but that didn't stop me from channeling all of my energy into making sure that that wouldn't happen. I decided to grab my puke bag to put my mind at ease. Just. In. Case. But wait! I didn't have one! Just the act of moving sped up my body's desire to retaliate and I had already diverted my mental energy to secure a bag so I had to act fast. Luckily Bryan had one and as soon as I got it I threw up. I threw up like my life depended on it. Over and over again until I was finally done and man did I feel better. There is nothing worse than throwing up and NOT feeling at least a moment of releif. But I did this time and was greatful. Seat 24F had made the mistake of looking over at me mid-hurl and quickly turned her head to look out the window, so she was well aware as to what was happening. I have to say though that the great thing about planes is that the engines are so loud, no one could hear me puke. The only way Bryan knew what I was doing was because he saw me. If his eyes had been closed he wouldn't have known (until the smell caught up with him). So Seat 24F probably wouldn't have been the wiser had she not looked over. Grave mistake.
Shortly after my little episode I realized Bryan hadn't moved or said anything in a while. I turned to my left and HE'S as white a sheet and was sweating profusely. I quickly realized where this was headed and got him some good a/c and asked the flight attendant for another bag since I 'borrowed' his. BAM! he started throwing up too. A lot. And then we were hit with the double-whammy smell of vomit emanating from seats 24D and E. Once he was done we added the bag to mine and started a pile. The flight attendant saw that we were going to be 'those people' and gave us a much larger plastic bag to contain all of our smaller USED bags throughout the flight. Why she didn't just take them on an as-needed basis was beyond me, so we put both bags in the larger one and tied it shut. But it was too late.
The smell wasn't contained and it hung like a cloud, looming over us. We looked at each other and instantly felt horrible for 24F for getting stuck sitting next to the Pukey Pukertons. I apologized to her and you know what her response was? "Oh my gosh don't even worry about it. I just hope you two feel better! Here! Take my bag, just in case." And then she smiled! Like, not a Paris Hilton fake smile, but a genuine I-hope-you-survive-the-rest-of-the-flight-even-though-I'm-a-stranger-I-really-do-care type of smile. She was amazing.
Oh, but it didn't end there. Bryan still had TWO MORE ROUNDS to go! Yes sir, he threw up two more times, thus adding to our bag collection. So every time we untied that plastic bag, WOOSH! Eau de Stomach Bile. We felt horrible but we couldn't help it. Seat 24F, however, was a trooper. You know what she did after the third assault? She pulled out some fruity hand lotion, put it on, and rested her hands against her face. How is THAT for genius? She was all nonchalant about it; no big drama, no retching noises, nothing. As if we were to look at her and think, "Well, her hands must really be dry, what with being on an airplane and all." But no! She knew it smelled like her worst nightmare but didn't want us to feel bad so she busted out the scented lotion. Blew me away.
When we finally landed we again apologized for making it The Worst Flight In The History Of The World for her and she still brushed it off, only concerned with us feeling better. Bryan told her that it would at least make a good story for whomever was picking her up and she smiled, as I'm sure that thought had already crossed her mind.
So I dedicate my second blog entry to you, Seat 24F. Your unselfishness truly astounded me. I'm sure all your friends got a good laugh as you re-told the tale, and I hope they did. If one good thing were to come out of you sitting next to the two of us on the way back from New York, I would hope that it's a good story. I hope this goes down as legend amongst your friends and family. That the telling of it gets a little more and more exaggerated, and that by the very end, Bryan and I end up drowning in our vomit after the entire plane is forced to make a crash landing from lack of oxygen. That YOU save everyone with your magic lotion.
