More and more I hate flying. It’s not that I have anything against being packed in next to someone who invariably hogs the armrest, or in front of the kid who entertains himself for four hours by kicking the back of my seat. It’s the damn beverage carts.
Since I know that for the next several hours, I’m going to get four ounces of “sorry we’re out of diet Coke” and six peanuts, I’m forced to raid the Cinnabon stand at the terminal like Vikings sacking Rome. I have a problem with the dry air on the planes, so I chug down thirty-two ounces of watered down fountain soda before boarding. My bladder can hold exactly thirty-one ounces of liquid (I’ve measured), so my plane is still 42nd in line to take off by the time nature calls.
I sit like a sprinter in the blocks waiting for the seat belt light to go out, only to be faced with the cart that started beverage “service” about the time that parents with small children boarded. There’s an unwritten rule that the beverage cart must be in motion before they even have a chance to lose my luggage. They do this so that they may eventually reach my seat before the plane touches down.
I’m faced with a moral dilemma. Do I hang my fat ass over some business man’s laptop so the cart can squeeze by, or squirm in my seat while reading through three magazines and memorizing what to do in case of a water landing?
We’re talking the law of diminishing returns here. The older I get, the more I’m fighting with muscles that, during childbirth, were stretched tighter than a sweater on Dolly Parton. As my bladder gets weaker, my legs are also getting weaker, making it harder to leap over the beverage cart. Thighs, don’t fail me now!
If there is an upside to the whole flying experience, it’s that now that they no longer serve a snack box with a roll and a scabby old apple, I have the perfect excuse to snarf down a Cinnabon.
If you see me squirming on the plane, it’s either because my blood sugar is dropping after an airport carbohydrate rush, or I refuse to stick my butt into somebody else’s diet Coke and peanuts. I’m still waiting for mine.
Why not carry a portable beverage I.V. and insert a catheter?
I.V. diet Coke? Why didn’t I think of that?
You’ve hit upon the reason I refuse to fly any longer. If I can’t drive there and stop and pee when I want to, I’m not going.
Chuckling at Alexander’s comment. I’m willing to bet someone’s tried that already. My personal hell on a plane comes from my brain, I’m pretty sure. As soon as I get settled in my seat, my brain tells my legs it’s time to party. My legs and feet cannot be still. Sometimes I try to corral their angst by tapping out imaginary time to a song in my head or from my iPod. It works for maybe 10 minutes, then I’m back to being in anxiety overload. After I order a drink (usually gin and tonic) I calm down a little, but my neighbors are pretty pissed by that time. Of course, cue my realization that my laptop’s in the overhead, and I have to shove my fat ass in someone’s face to get to it. I’m about as popular as a screaming baby by the time we reach our destination.
When you know that you can’t get up and move around, you can’t think of anything else.
Just think, if there was a water landing, no one would have to know that you peed in the water…but, let’s hope there’s not watery landings…!! We love you too much to lose you!!
Can you say “Kegel exercises?”
I think that Spenser’s joke shop in the mall sells “sneak it in” bags that are essentially a liquid contraband apparatus you can put in your jacket pocket, or sew into its inner lining. I wouldn’t recommend trying to dupe the TSA, though. They don’t like that. Can’t you bring drinks on the plane, though? I thought if you bought it in the terminal it was fair game– but I haven’t flown in a while.
The problem isn’t taking it on the plane so much as waiting till I’m on the plane to eat/drink it. Have you ever tried to practice impulse control with a Cinnabon?
Just linked over to you from humor press. I have entered my first humor press contest and I’ve pretty much just decided that I want to be you (well, and Erma Bombeck of course). Love love love your entries. So funny.
Thanks for sharing your talent!
Rachel
Good luck on the humorpress competition! I’ve built up an impressive stack of honorable mentions over the last year. I’m so glad you stopped by!
“Have you ever tried to practice impulse control with a Cinnabon?”
That hard, huh?