|Red eyed tree frog|
There is no snuggling comfortably on a red-eye either (unless you are me, keep reading). The guy behind you is kicking your seat. You hear that overhead "bong bong" from two rows ahead of you calling for the flight attendant at 2 am. There is the turbulence. There is the captain telling you to fasten your seat belts lest you get catapulted out of your seat. And of course, if you are on the aisle seat, there is always the person next to you who needs to visit the bathroom at 3 am. UGH!
This brought back memories of my own red-eye flight back in October 2014 when John and I traveled from San Francisco to back to Philly after visiting family. We had wanted to have a drink before the flight at the airport bar. As luck would have it, traffic driving back into San Francisco was a nightmare. We made our flight with only 15 minutes to spare at the most. We were those guys you see literally RUNNING down the concourse screaming at people to get out of the way, each with a carry on slung over our shoulders, holding onto a personal bag with water bottles, magazines, newspapers, and books dropping everywhere.
We made it onto the flight. John took the window seat immediately, taking over the seat rest with his massive meat hooks. GRRRR. I was sandwiched in the center between him and a very Rubenesque older woman to my right. I was the ham and cheese between to slices of bread. The peanut butter between two crackers. The pea between mattresses. You get the idea.
After we lifted off, I ordered a red wine from the flight attendant. John ordered a Scotch. My lady next to me jokingly asked, "Is it happy hour somewhere?"
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed to which she responded in soothing southern voice (or was it a South Philly voice?) "That's alright honey, you were lookin' so comfortable and peaceful, I didn't want to disturb ya!"