Flying the friendly skies

I fly a lot. Lately, way too much and one thing I've discovered is EVERYONE is flying again. I remember flying just a month after 9/11 and the plane was half full. Now, every seat is taken. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten, the middle seat is taken by the same guy. I'll call him Burt and he weighs more than 300 pounds. Burt enjoys his food. That's evidenced by the mustard stains and lord knows what else that decorate his oversized skin tight shirt. The sad part is, Burt doesn't have the same kind of love affair with soap and water. From the moment he plops down and the whoosh of stench overwhelms me I know it's going to be a long flight.

Like heat rising from the pavement, Burt's presence soon envelopes his flying companions. You know this by the tell-tale scrunched noses...the quick looks around as if there's some sort of sign saying, "Over here! It's not you!" Sometimes, I'll help the searchers with a guilty eye move toward my seat mate.

And is it me or have airline seats gotten narrower? I generally sit next to the window because I have great bladder control and I can use the wall to rest my head. When Burt takes his seat however, I'm trapped. The wall is now a barrier and Burt's girth slops over the arm rest and onto me. There's no escape.

So, the next time you fly the friendly skies, look for Burt. I'll be the one gasping for air next to him.