I’m stuck in a middle seat toward the rear of the plane, close to the bathroom that has been very popular recently. In fact, there is a line of seven passengers slowly marching forward, a few in obvious panic mode. As one departs the luxurious confines, an odor wafts out, attacking my nostrils.
But that’s not so bad. It’s just that in the aisle seat is a woman who has captured the armrest and crossed over into my personal space.
But that’s not so bad. On the window side is this sockless young man who has chosen to remove his loafers and operate on his mellow yellow toenails.
But that’s not so bad. The flight is two hours late, and I just missed my connection.
The good news! I just woke up from a bad dream. My flight isn’t until tomorrow morning.
Note: Sometimes I dream of all the misadventures of 50 years of being a sales guy.
Watch out for honey