What airplane passenger in his right mind would prefer a window seat? Everyone but me, of course. And this incriminating factoid remained a secret until, as you smart readers figured out, the preceding sentence.
And our company's travel agent, to her credit, did ask me what my seat preference was. There was a discrepancy between what was said and thought:
My mouth: "I don't have a preference."
My brain: "I just started this job and don't want to look like a big pussy."
This lack of communication worked out for everyone, especially my pants, which were fortunately requesting to be soaked in urine mid-flight. On my flight home we (all ten of us) boarded a rather small plane — so small, the left-hand side of the cabin had only one seat per row. Well, at least I got my aisle seat.
I'm not sure why I enjoy flying closer to the front. There's no first class on a small plane, just like I never went to my first class in college. It's probably something psychological, like this:
My brain: "Sweet. Third row. I'll be one of the first to get that tiny-ass bag of pretzels."
The plane was at half capacity. So you can understand why the flight attendant wanted all of us front-row passengers to move to the back of the plane. Oh, you can't either? Well that's what happened. And I was so happy to fly in the back! Because once the plane reached cruising altitude, there was a loud, piercing sound coming from the floor that resembled air being sucked out of the cabin! And I felt so safe!!
Now, being a window seat wayfarer gives one "the view" everyone loves to have:
Someone else's brain: "Wow, what an amazing view!!"
My brain: "Wow, what happens if that propeller stops turning!?"
So while your rational passenger will witness the splendor of the cloud tops, the endless horizon and the occasional UFO, yours truly was fixated on the wing, for it was about 75 percent of my total view. So I became the unofficial designated wing-watcher, which was vital to the success of the flight even though nobody asked me to and I didn't tell anyone I was.
Being the Official Wingman is comparable to the feeling you get when your heart pole-vaults through your gullet, out your nostrils and soaring through the air into the face of an unsuspecting citizen. But it must be done, because at any moment the paneling of the wing could fly off. And if the mechanic had a beef with the pilot, the paneling just may reveal that the wiring was replaced with angel hair pasta.
Article comments
1 - Mary K. Williams
I like the Aisle, usually because I enjoy using the tiny bathroom soo much. Oh and that smell! Lovely, just lovely.
Pretty good post Suss - funny guy you are. : )
2 - Bob A. Booey
I personally like the high-class Microsoft Paint graphic logo that Sussman spent so much time on the best.
That is all.
3 - Matthew T. Sussman
I have MSPaint skills. Be jealous.