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host - email - older- newest - profile - noteswe ride 2007-02-16 - 0:59 p.m. I was in 25A, and I sat next to a certain 25C recently on a plane. There was a bonus empty seat between us. Whenever there�s a seat between a (close in proximity) traveler and me, it works out to be a first come first serve situation. So if I don�t throw my floor items onto the seat before they do, they monopolize the seat with their wires and things. It's like having a temporary roommate, and I'm always so glad to move out. "Yeah thanks, you too. Good luck with the camel herding." I have a Laverne and Shirley mentality on the plane, and so I�d prefer they put a piece of masking tape in the middle of the seat and share it. God did not necessarily give everyone the sharing gene, but he was nice enough to give one to Miss 25A. We really didn�t talk the whole way there, but in the last 1/18th of the trip, my headphones came off, and her book went down. Try and shut us up after that. Laughing and joking, and I think I may have even hit her on the back to bring home an especially important point. Come baggage claim time, we were related, and should possibly have embarked on some kind of tour together. She had tattoos that looked like map routes on her arms, spanning her physical world. My tattoos are inside. They look like arteries. She could�ve been 40-50, I don�t know. She surfs, and lives in San Francisco and writes. Doesn�t do drugs anymore. Can meditate without getting antsy. In Tampa to see sister she hasn�t seen in years. Has a hair bob, last seen wearing wool pants. Our correspondence is good; I think she needs a diaryland diary. �I think I was 25A, not B. Oops. Because we had the communal storage seat between us, and I think that was B. A is always the window, I should know I always make the travel agent put me there so I can monitor the pilot's landing progress.� - Ohell �The writing is going well. I have a couple construction projects
I�ve had other memorable seatmates. The Rolling Stone magazine photographer who flat out lied about how authentic L.A. was when I was in the process of moving here, the guy who whispered to me that he was gay but was ready to sleep with a woman �tonight�, and honorable mention: the thin as lemongrass with sass Asian man who insisted on sitting near the window, which then caused him to catch a very bad flu. He wanted to switch seats with me again, but I had already signed a contract with myself to make him suffer. Eventually I felt bad and gave him my sweater because he shivered and coughed the rest of the way. While looking up at me, as often as you would check your rearview if it were alive. That�s what happens when you�re a hasty decision maker and treat this plane like it's your own personal Anarchy base camp, I told him in a kind of Chinese that only I could understand. previous - next |