The Shared Armrest

We’ve all met them. They’re a transitory fixture in your life- a seeming foreshadowing of a trip yet to be experienced. Despite the consumption of poor quality food prepared 6 hours prior; despite the frigid recycled air (take a moment, if you will, to envision someone exhaling into a bag, the sealing and refrigeration of the bag, and your subsequent inhalation of said air); despite the pillows that more resemble a cotton ball stuffed into an envelope; despite the shooting pains from your lower back that miraculously reach all the way to your forehead … despite all this, every traveler knows it is, in fact, your seat neighbor that dictates the levels of pleasure or pain on every single flight ever taken.

Let me clarify: When I use the word “pleasure,” I am obligated to acknowledge that this is an adjective in no way accurate to describe any flights I’ve personally experienced. Single girl, on a quest to experience all the world’s adventures, but never has the universe granted me a gorgeous and nice-smelling neighbor. Oh! Forgive me! There was one bicep-blessed firefighter, on a particular domestic flight, who endowed me with a plethora of stories about his lovely wife, no doubt with a 24” waist.

There have been many a character experienced, however, who have aided in creating a slightly jaded outlook on the joy that is air travel. My greatest highlight, to date, was the large East Indian man who spent approximately 12 ½ of our 13 hour flight with his arm on my rest and his left leg stretched comfortably across the line that should separate the tiny bit of personal space that I exchanged thousands of dollars for. Let’s call him … One More Brandy. And let me say, like a monster who gains size with every act of maliciousness in his presence, One More Brandy seemed to expand, inch by inch, with each ounce drunk. Before long, he would be tossing his pillow onto my lap, stealing my blanket the minute I was given the grace of unconsciousness, dripping alcohol down my leg, and to top it off- ordering his limit of Duty Free brandy so his experience could be extended once reaching Chennai.

I must ensure not to overlook Static Head- the little girl keeping me company on the way to Florida, who I woke up to see staring at my face, her nose 2 inches from mine, her hair stuck straight out in all directions like a Chia pet, so much so I swear it was sticking to MY face as well. Oh, and there was the Dutch man en route to Amsterdam, wife and child next to him, who seemed to think that acknowledging my existence would equal certain and imminent death.

Sadly, only I can be blamed for my experience with the Italian shoe-factory owner sharing an armrest on one particular journey bound for Frankfurt. As is so uncommon, this particular plane was only half-full, leaving plenty of options for moving around and even, dare I say it, fully horizontal status! Unfortunately, I was experiencing such ecstasy over having scored my first ever Emergency Exit seat that I told the flight attendant I was happy where I was. What a decision—A decision that luckily resulted in my 9 hour exposure to the subpar breath of one Italian shoemaker.

I must take a moment and invite Optimism to this party. I recognize that not everyone has my luck. One of my favorite men, who happens to barter his way into business class on 8 out of 10 flights, spent one particular voyage with an exceptionally vivacious, beautiful, and assertive girl while both were in their 20’s. Once the standard snack-drink- dinner-drink and tuck-in-for-a-nap had occurred, this particular young lady unfolded her blanket, raised the armrest, rested her head on his shoulder, and drifted contentedly off to sleep. I would imagine he sat, suddenly nocturnal, grinning and feeling really quite proud of himself for being so undeniably irresistible.

But to date, nothing like this has happened to me. It doesn’t mean I’ve lost hope. In a few hours I board my next flight, from Amsterdam to Venice, and since it’s such a short one, I am sure this will be my big break.