Flying High

Come with me, if you will, back in time. Back to a period historically referred to as “last week.”

I’m anxiously awaiting to board a plane that will take me home. I’m anxious, in part, because I want to get home, but at this particular moment I’m anxious because I have to board a plane to get there. And it’s a cross-country flight, so I’ll likely be anxious for a few hours.

I’m not an overly worrisome flier – you won’t see me gripping the arms of my seat, taking deep, audible breaths while the person next to me says, “Sir we’re at the airport dropoff. You’ll have to get off the parking tram now” – but I’m as equally excited as the next guy about plummeting 40,000 feet to the ground. Luckily, as I’m trudging down the aisle, some of my worries subside as I realize I once again get to choose among a slew of middle seats scattered throughout the plane. Ahhh, the beauty of flying Southwest, where you’re not just assigned a middle seat, but you get to choose which middle seat you want.

I should take a moment to point out that while Southwest’s unassigned seating practices create potential and, oftentimes, actual bloodshed among passengers, the airline has managed to stay lucrative and avoid the massive employee layoffs affecting a lot of its competitors. The reasons are two-fold: 1) They offer some of the lowest rates in the industry and 2) they have a customer-first business model that enhances the flying experience for their passengers by offering, in terms of perks, absolutely nothing. The cramped spaces, the lack of in-flight movies and the complete absence of food create a level of comfort unmatched in the industry.

And in case you were wondering about food on their flights, here’s the breakdown of what to expect, according to the back of each boarding pass:

For flight times less than 2 hours long: Drinks will be served

For flight times between 2-4 hours long: Snacks will be served

For flight times between 4-10 hours long: Drinks and snacks will be served

For flight times between 10-20 hours long: Drinks and snacks will be served, followed by another round of drinks and snacks

For flight times more than 20 hours long: Look, you’re not getting food, okay? You can bring food onto the plane or nibble on your neighbor. We don’t care. Just don’t ask us for a meal.

Anyway, back to my flight. After our smooth, easy takeoff, I’m reading comfortably and happy to be headed home. All of a sudden, my nerves kick in. Chills shoot down my spine. Something is amiss; something unmistakable in the air. The man in the seat next to me just farted.

As eight other people sit within a 10-foot vicinity of him, this man has no problem introducing his unique aromatic brand to the pressurized air around us. And, acting in a manner that I guess we all would if we committed such an egregious flying taboo, he is chomping away on his non Southwest-issued chicken fajita as if nothing happened.

I suppose that’s his only real option. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s not looking at those of us around him and saying, “My bad. Sorry about that.” He can only hope that everyone will wonder where it came from, but at the same time, he could crinkle his nose and look around as if to say, “Do you smell that? Who would do such a thing?” At least that would show an attempt to pass (pun intended) blame onto someone else.

Oh well. I should probably get back to my book. I’m making too big a deal of it. It is, after all, a perfectly natural bodily… Wait a sec. What the hell? Oh my God, he did it again! Are you kidding me? Dude, get a hold of yourself!

I don’t think this guy knows where he is. And once again, despite looking at him with my jaw dragging across the top of my seat-back tray, his expression doesn’t change. No burying his head out the window, trying desperately to avoid eye contact. No awkward repositioning in his seat. Nothing. I haven’t seen such an unabashed, shame-free display of public flatulence since my one year old ate pizza rolls for dinner.

Mercifully, before the oxygen masks can deploy, the plane soon lands. Not surprisingly, Stinky McToots-A-Ton, who chose a window seat, is now nervously standing and trying to figure out how he can get off the plane as soon as possible. Guess he has some sort of emergency to tend to.

See, Southwest? This is what happens when you let the customer make all the decisions. You get chicken fajita-eating farters taking up the window seats on four-hour flights. I hope you’re proud of yourselves.