The Flight

I have never dreaded a flight more than that Sunday, October 24th.  Our flight left at 3:53pm.  Leaving for the airport at 1:30pm made me almost as nervous as wading into the water the day before to start the swim.  I was extremely, extremely sore.  I’ve always enjoyed flying before, but not when my legs felt like they were as moveable as tree trunks. 

Every car ride that we took I could not sit as a normal person would (knees bent, facing forward) I needed to extend my legs across the back seats so that I could use my arms to help lift myself up and out of the car.  If I tried sitting like a normal human being it would be game over and I would need my friend’s help to get out of the car. 

We all took the elevator up to the airport concourse level and we all began walking.  3 seconds later I was 5 feet behind my friends.  10 seconds later I was a good 15 feet behind them.  Only after half a minute did they turn around and say, “Where did Brian go?”

We stopped at Chili’s with 90 minutes to spare before boarding – I was starving.  I felt hungrier than a ravenous wolf who sights a lone gazelle after having gone 2 weeks without feeding.  (Probably a slight exaggeration there, but you get the point and how often do you get to write about a ravenous wolf about to feed on a gazelle?) 

But, just in case you don’t here is a snippet from when the waiter delivered our food.

Waiter: Okay gents, we have a Chicken wrap?

Friend 1: That’s mine, thanks.

Friend 2: What a wuss, trying to drop some L B’s Manetti**?

Friend 1: Go sit on it  Travinski**  

** not real names

Waiter: And who ordered the Chili’s burger

Friend 2: Right here, thank you

Waiter: Okay, now we have Chicken Fajitas

My eyes were growing exponentially bigger at the sight of the sizziling plate of chicken, onions, peppers, and overall sweetness.  

Me (to myself): Come to papa, ohh chicken fajitas, where have you been my whole life?

Me: Ahem. That’s mine , thank you.

Waiter: Great, we also have an Asian chicken salad with extra chicken, which one of y’all is that for?

Me (to myself like a 2nd grader in a candy shop): WOW WOW WEE WOW! 

Me: Excellent.  You can put it right here.  Thanks, looks great.

Waiter (surprised at giving someone two rather large entree): Okay.  We also have an order of rice and beans

Me: Great.  I was wondering if you forgot that.  You could put that right next to my salad, (handing the waiter the salt and pepper shakers to clear some room). 

Waiter: Thanks y’all, let me know if you need anything else.

Me: Hmm, actually,  sorry to bother you but you had my order of chips and salsa too if it’s not too much a pain.

After our last supper, we went to board.  My friends finagled me an exit row seat (extra leg room, booyah!) which in mind was kind of like handing someone a nerf gun (who was previously weaponless) to fight Rambo.  However, it was an aisle seat so maybe a Nerf gun and a helmet is the more appropriate  analogy.

Settling in to my seat (again thank you to my two friends for dealing with my luggage) I turned on my iPod and closed my eyes.  The plane pulls away from the gate, taxis to the run-way and take off.  So far so good.

I had the aisle seat, which enabled me to get up every 15 minutes to walk around. I feared that if I sat for too long (or fell asleep) I would be done for.  It helped that the guy in the window seat had a bladder the size of a mouse, so he made me get up every 15 minutes –  if I forgot to.

Landing at JFK was a happy sight.  I was even happier to stand up and walk down the aisle of the plan to the exit.  

Mission accomplished in my mind.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s