Passenger

July 18, 2019

The air had grown fetid over the four hours. Not yet rancid, but in his currently enfeebled state he thought he would not be able to tell when that threshold had been crossed. There were odors swirling around him, none of them good. He’d been breathing through his nostrils with only occasional lungfuls pulled in orally. He somehow thought the nostril breathing would reduce the amount of ambient spoilage that would enter his body. This was, luckily, a good sinus day for him, his nose was dominating the task at hand.

He was on a commercial airliner. The plane was full, 177 passengers plus crew. He was boxed in on both sides and his seat would not recline due to proximity to the Emergency Exit. As a youngster he had been inclined to claustrophobia but it’d been years since a related incident had been sparked off. The confines were tight and his freedom of motion was rigorously restricted. Then, he thought, maybe it wasn’t claustrophobia, maybe the recent meal was not sitting well. Certainlyit wasn’t sitting well, but was it sitting well enough? He couldn’t be sure, but this was truly an unpleasant time for a bellyache. A mild perspiration broke out on his forehead.

Just then a second wind of sorts. The flight attendant came around offering drinks. A cool cup of water, sans ice, was tendered and consumed. He was mid-flight with two hours remaining. The water did slake his mental anguish for the time being scoring a temporary triumph. Could the victory be prolonged? 

He had eaten four Eggo waffles as his in-flight meal. They had been toasted six hours earlier, placed in a Ziploc bag then secured in his backpack. The pair of napkins packaged with the waffles failed to stave off their soggification. The waffles, removed from the bag, were moist and had the compromised structural integrity of cooked spaghetti. He had to eat something, hours still before non-flight food options would become available. How could he be angry with Eggos, he thought to himself rhetorically. He couldn’t be, so he had eaten four of them. Delicious, at least at the point of consumption, then they sat in his belly like dirty dish rags. That’s when his tummy tumbled.

He had the forethought to remove his shoes before takeoff. He stretched his stockinged feet and dragged them across the tiny stretch of carpeting before him. Working to convince himself he was napping in the comforts of home with his feet on the couch. This came to a positive result, but fleeting. 

Humid and warm remained the air. He heard coughing and sneezing from some of his fellow passengers. He didn’t want to breath in the expellations of others. Nostril breathing was reinforced. He felt sticky, especially with his shirt sticking to his body at pinch points. He was waning. With his struggle hanging in the balance he closed his eyes and thought pleasant thoughts. Baseball. Reading on the patio. Snorkeling in the ocean yesterday on the now deceased vacation.

Christ, two more hours until landing. How much could be endured? The guy across the aisle in his bare feet. The lady in front of him enjoying her recline further encroaching into his diminished personal space. And then, a beacon of hope, another refreshment cart. A cup of orange juice. Pulled in two swift gulps. Courage coursed through him.

He put down the book, leaned his head back on the headrest. He needed a distraction from the attrition of this psychological combat. Removing a notebook from his backpack and a pen, he would write. Of course, beat back the tribulation with a more powerful mental task. With pen in hand he wrote of these current flight related troubles and concerns. What is his strategy to emerge victoriously from this rugged episode? He had been lost in a swamp of weakness but presently found himself summoning strength. His confidence cresting, his writing became inspired and the stream of consciousness came issuing forth in a strong flow onto the page.

[This documents a difficult mid-flight experience on the return leg of a recent vacation.]