Hello everyone! Posting today from Row 16, Seat A onboard a Southwest 737-400. Pretty stable flight right now, fairly uneventful on my way to the greater Chicago area for a week of company training. Well, sort of.
After making my way through security, past the herds of travelers leaving (thank god, its almost school time again) my beautiful city, I made my to the 'A' line, having my printed boarding card that my lovely girlfriend printed for me previously that morning. After sitting in the wrong section of the airport for an hour, I decided I better go and check which gate I was leaving from. Turns out the 'A' queue was already down the gang way!! Not too concerned, I pushed my way to the front of the 'B' line and got on
the plane. Now, I typically like the window seat. It lets me look out the window and provides something on which to rest one's head if tired. I take seat 16A and settle in. Then it begins. Two guys, who are beyond description sit down. I'll give it my best here. First, what they look like...The guy sitting next to me is probably in his late thirties, and his buddy is probably 10 years older. "Spike" is next to me, and the younger of the two. I know that he goes by Spike because that's what it says on the brim of his tattered, east coast open top visor. He actually is the complete opposite of what image is conjured up with the name "Spike". His buddy is in the aisle seat and is wearing the worst pair of board shorts I have ever seen. Seriously, they are rainbow striped and look like they should have been left in 1991. He supplements his ensemble with a bright yellow shirt that seems to be an advertisement for a business: "glow sticks, flashing lights and MORE! Call 464-1760". He tops the entire look off with an even rattier fisherman's cap and a greying handlebar mustache.
Ok, so now you know what they look like. That really isn't the half of it.
While the guy on the end is interesting to look at from a people watching perspective, he hasn't impacted my Southwest experience. Spike however, is like a 6 year old in the body of an aging PB-ite. From the minute he sat down and made the requisite cell phone call from his seat (not that I didn't make the same call...) I knew this would be an interesting flight. With his voice up to eleven, he proclaims that he is "half in the bag" and that Rosarito was just "dirty...just dirty". Within minutes of lift off, out comes the San Diego Union Tribune - now, I thought that this guy was
from the east coast, but I am thinking that he may have never been on a subway. There is a requite manner in which you fold a goddamn newspaper (vertically..) so as to avoid encroaching on your neighbor's personal space. Spikey hasn't been on a subway...Between his beefy arms pushing mine out of the way, and the squirming around to talk to someone behind us, he is worse than the 6 year old. At least the 6 year old will go to sleep when he is tired....
And there it is - he has drifted off to sleep. Both arms hogging the arm rests...man, flying Southwest is humbling.
