Hard Laugh

I’m on a flight to Boston. Last minute sort of thing. Not exactly an emergency but a thing I had to do. And I’m sitting next to a couple I already hated when I boarded. Because I booked a 7:05pm flight at 5:03pm, I didn’t get to choose a seat. But the guy at the gate asked if I was willing to sit in an exit row. Would I be able to assist in case of an emergency. I think all I’m required to do is open the door but I wouldn’t mind if it were a sort of last person off the plane sort of agreement. I’ll sign away my left kidney for an exit row seat. He handed me a boarding pass for 12D. No kidney required.

When I tried to board, they told me I already had. So I shouldn’t have been surprised to find someone in 12D. I went to the back of the plane, as you do, because there’s someone behind you trying to get to their seat and the person in your seat is insisting she’s you. I mean that she had a boarding pass with my name on it. Which is disconcerting, considering what it takes to get on a plane.

I told the flight attendant I didn’t want to fight for the seat but if airplane rules required it, I’d understand. The flight attendant said they don’t make us fight to the death anymore. I’d just have to pin her. Then hustled off to inform the woman that I am the correct me, and she should have to sit next to her own husband, even if he is wearing flip flops on a flight to Boston.

I remembered my charger and forgot my ear buds. She, now in the center row, has every flight hack instagram’s been trying to sell me for a year. The tray table pillow and the tray table foot rest and the neck pillow and the thingy to hang your phone from the tray table.

They’re watching some sitcom I’ve never seen or heard of. And they’re laughing. I don’t know why this enrages me. But it does. I’m not a hard laugh. I laugh in conversation. I laugh at my dog. But I don’t laugh on an airplane watching a sitcom next to someone whose precious exit row seat I tried to take so that I wouldn’t have to sit next to my flip flop wearing husband.

Maybe I’m just in a shitty mood because I’m on a plane to Boston when I planned to write a little and go to bed early so I could write some more tomorrow. She’s watching me type this.

Now I’m in a 100 dollar Uber listening to Eminem. I feel bad for this dude. He’s sweet. But no one in almost Rhode Island where my brother lives is getting an Uber back to Boston tonight.

This should be a text message to someone but it’s 20 past midnight and I don’t know who to text at 20 past midnight. I hope my brother has a pre roll hidden, but not too hidden, in the garage.

I was proud of myself for getting on a plane within two hours of being told I should get on a plane but now that I’m sitting in the back of an Uber, I realized I have no idea what I shoved in a bag. And I lost my pocket knife to a guy at TSA who said, “Damn that’s a cool knife. Shame.” So I said merry Christmas I guess, and handed it to him. He was still playing with it when I headed into the line. It’s just a Gerber. But I had that Gerber with a broken tip when I was a cable guy. So I’m a little bummed about it.

I guess I’m in Boston. I’ve gotta give this guy the sort of tip that makes up for no one is calling an Uber back to Boston at 1 something a.m..

Merry Christmas I guess? (I’m not as bummed as I sound. I do wish they’d let me fight that lady for my seat though.)