I’m too old and too fat to sit in 20F. It’s as simple as that.
I flew to Denver this morning on the 8:10 flight out of Philadelphia. Little did I know that half of Philly commutes to the Mile High City on Monday mornings. Which resulted in me wedged into seat 20F on United 403. And I mean wedged.
I’ve been spoiled with too many first class seats and too much foie gras. I think the last time I was comfortable in 20F was when I was 17. That’s a long, long time ago. Plus, I have a little claustrophobia on top of all that. So, guess what? The putz in front of me throws his seat back to within 5 inches of my face as soon as we zoom up over the Delaware. Three freaking hours and 18 minutes of me breathing in his Au de Redneck cologne. Seriously, there was barely enough room to hold my paperback up. (I need it farther away from my face as I’ve aged too…remember, this is a crabby old man rant.)
As a topper, there was really bad weather in Denver. We were all asked to stay in our seats (as if I could get up anyways…the guy next to me was sleeping and sweating out garlic the whole time) an hour outside Denver. All of us, including the flight attendants. We rocked, rolled, and pitched our way in. We were met with a hailstorm as we waited in the deicing area. Yep, our gate was occupied.
I’m too old for this. I’m too crabby for this. I’m too claustrophobic for this.
That’s all. Now I’m going to get ready for my client meeting. I’m going to spend the rest of the night negotiating a better seat with United. Either that or I’ll be driving back. Heck, it’s only 1,557 miles as the crow flies. I need a bigger crow.
