Frazzled Marc, half way through my 40s!

Frazzled Marc, half way through my 40s!
Frazzled Marc, half way through my 40s!

Thursday, May 18, 2017

The Dreaded Red Eye Flight


Red eyed tree frog

My sister and I were discussing this week the dreaded "red-eye" flight for our upcoming June trip out to California to see my Dad. You know the flight. You think it's a great idea at the time because it's SO cheap and are so that you are gonna be able to sleep on the plane and wake up all refreshed on the opposite coast at 6 am. Then you realize after you land that you've just had the sleep from Hell! Hence the term RED-EYE.

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?"
I replied that I wanted to make sure I sleep like a baby on the flight back to Philly."
"Mmm-hmmm honey, you got the right idea," she replied ordering herself an amaretto on the rocks. "We gonna sleep real well tonight," she quipped.

After the wine, I dozed off pretty quickly. I woke up at 4 am from a sound sleep, jostled from a bit of turbulence. My arm draped over the woman sitting next to me, my head resting on her ample bosom. No that was definitely not a warm pillow. I groggily came to, sitting back into my seat. I was mortified.

"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!"
"Gee thanks," I responded nervously and quietly. John was sawing wood next to me up against the window. I don't think I slept the rest of the flight, surprised I wasn't slugged by the poor woman.




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