To the turd that was seated in 15-D on American Airlines Flt. 1624 to Chicago O’Hare on Wednesday evening, I have one word for you — Valium.

Best I can tell, you’re taking a nap now, and I swear I’m so tempted to get up and take a photo of you once the fasten seatbelt sign goes off. I might just. But what I’m definitely gonna do, if I can catch you on the way off the plane, is give you one of my postcards so that you can read this blog once I post it. I used to be scared to do asshole-ish stuff like that… Like right now in this moment, the conservative Erin hologram on my left shoulder is whispering in my ear and saying, “Leave it alone, E. Yeah, that guy was a douche, but don’t stoop to his level.” But the bitchy Erin on my right shoulder is screaming in my ear and saying, “Get him, E! This is great for the act. Plus it’ll serve as equilibrium for punking out on that flight from O’Hare to Baltimore a couple weeks ago.

Now I know none of you know what the heck I’m talking about so here’s the background…

I was having a fine day. Found a laundry room at the hotel and did laundry so I didn’t have to travel to Indy with dirty clothes. Got to LAX and returned the rental car with plenty of time to spare. My bag which I was positive was gonna be overweight came in at 49.5 pounds. And my large tube of Extra Dry Skin Curel made it thru airport security — What? I get a little ashy when I fly. :)

I boarded the plane and put my bookbag under the seat in front of me. I also had a small plastic bag with a sweatshirt I bought in the airport and my coat. I put the coat and the plastic bag in the bin above my head. About 5-10 minutes after I’m all settled, an older gentleman a few rows ahead of me asks if he can move my sweatshirt and coat to a bin a little forward of his seat so that he could fit his bag in the one over my head. OK, dude. Sure. Thought nothing of it, put my iPod on. About 2 or 3 minutes after that the aforementioned douche a few rows up starts having a tantrum about how a coat and a bag mysteriously “jumped into” his compartment. He said something to the effect of “I was trying to make room for a real bag.” — which of course meant ‘his’ carry-on suitcase. I told him it was mine, but explained that I didn’t move it. Then he started huffing and puffing about not wanting to “be in charge of everyone’s stuff.” WTF, right? So I said, “What do u mean be in charge of it? Just close the… bin!” Now the ellipses are important because they show you where and how I edited myself. I didn’t see any kids, but my reflexive profanity would have still been inappropriate I’m sure.


Dude was acting as if it were his private bin or something. But rather than keep fighting with him, I gave into his adult hissy fit. He was already behaving like a child and I didn’t want to risk him doing what that little boy did on that last flight. Not even I could have handled 3 and a half hours of that type of retribution. I snatched my bag back from him and put it under my seat. There was plenty of room, but he should have asked nicely.

The lady in front of me asked me if I’d ever seen “airplane rage” like that before. I told her sure I had and then being the publicity tramp I am, I gave her one of my cards so she could read this blog tomorrow too ;) She then asked me if I could also please mention the woman who is sitting directly across from me in 18-A who hasn’t stopped talking yet. Of course, I obliged her. ;) We’ve been in the air for an hour and 20 minutes and she is sitting next to someone she didn’t know before the flight. I was hoping that at least when the flight attendant brought her a Pepsi, she would stop talking at least long enough to take a few sips. No dice. She has managed to drabble right thru it (FYI, ‘drabble’ is my newly-invented combination of ‘drink’ and ‘babble.’) Dude in 18-B is a way better person than me. Geez lady, zip it! I can hear you over my iPod.

I guess that’s enough hatred for one blog. I think I’ve sufficiently covered everything I needed to. If something else goes down after I power off, I’ll add it later.

(yes, I’m aware that’s the wrong one :)

6 thoughts on “Airplane Venom, Pt. II

  1. Laurie

    Hey Erin,

    I, too, entertained several with my account of the airplane venom story. As I told the story, I actually had more laughs describing the “motor mouth” woman than the “plane rage” man. True, the “plane rage” man behaved as if the plane was his private jet. However, the “motor mouth” woman behaved as if she was preparing to have her tongue cut out and it was her last chance to tell the world her story. Ohhhhh…if only we could have cut out her tongue. Or better yet, we should have had the flight attendant put the persnickety old man (who, by the way, put his seat back into my lap), the “road rage” man, and the “motor mouth” woman in the same row of three seats together. They deserved each other. And P.S., I’m tired of flying “unAmerican.”

    “The lady in front of you.”

  2. Jenny

    I had a motor mouth on my plane from New Orleans to ATL. Mind you this was a 5:30 AM flight, we were all have awake and only stayed awake to board and then planed to SLEEP! “Lady in the isle” had other plans and when she could tell I was not the one, she found the next person whose eyes were open and moved out of her seat and sat in the window seat next to dude. They talked the ENTIRE way to ATL and ruined the rest of our plans. We all just looked at them when we deplaned as they hugged each other. I’ve never hugged some random person I met on the plane… I guess crazy attracks crazy! Thanks for sharing :)

  3. Jon

    That drabbling lady did not take one breath. I believe but am not sure that the drabbler could have been a one upper. That would explain for her constant yapping. The old man with the unibrow who initially moved your stuff thought everyone liked him because of his bad jokes. Mr. plane rage…well, he was ridiculous. I thought if this goes on longer, steam might shoot out his nostrils and it was all because of a plastic bag with a red sweater in it. How many people get angry over a red sweater?

    The son sitting to the right of the lady sitting in front of you.

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