I can't stand flying. Essentially I convice myself everytime I get on a plane it is going to crash. So I had this 90 minute commuter flight to take early a few days ago and I am terribly hungover. The flight already starts badly because the plane is packed and the fattest guy to walk on the plane promptly sits next to me essentially pinning me up against the window. So when the inevitable fire and flames come on the landing and engulf the cabin I am going to burn to death as I wont be able to get by this guy to get to the emergency exit.
So we taxi down the runway and the Captain annouces the first 20 minutes or so will be quite turbulent. I look out at the tornadic like conditions and begin to panic to the point I am poised to get up and rap on the pilot's door asking him to turn around, that I have had enough. But I decide to tough it out and prompty tighten my seat belt to the point circulation to my legs is cut off.
So we take off and get to be what is our cruising altitude and we are bouncing around pretty good. Then it hits me. Due to the infinte Grey Goose I consumed the last few days and the greasy airport breakfast, my stomach begins to rage. The bottom line is I have to take a massive shit and I maybe have like five minutes before D-Day. Obviously the last thing anyone wants to ever have to endure is taking a shit on an airplane and given the turbulence it makes the situation even worse.
I have to move quick and I am able to squeeze by fat guy and begin to make my way to the back of the plane. Effeminite Bruce is tending to his drink cart looks up and is in a state of shock I am out of my seat. In a lispy and loud voice "Sir the captain has the theetbelt sign on". I explain I have serious business to handle and he lispes "Sir I am just letting you know the theetbelt sign is on" this time even louder. Really? So that is what that illuminated object means? All these years I thought it meant something else.
WTF, do you really think I want to be going through this highly unpleasent expeirence. It's not like I am walking in there with the NY Times. I want to get in and out and back to my seat as quick as possible. What a prick, and kindly get the fucking cart out of my way. I quickly get inside the 2'x2' cube, unfasten my belt and promptly coat the inside of the metallic bowl. What a glorious feeling and I sit there for another couple minutes making sure there is not going to be a repeat. The plane is still bouncing and I cautiously emerge from the lav and there is Bruce, tidying up the drink cart while giving me a Fuck You type of glare.
So I walk back to my seat and halfway down the aisle I hear a metal object banging. Its the door to the bathroom flopping feverishly. Obviously I did not close it properly and Bruce is having a near panic attack maneuvering around the cart to get to the door. Then I witness a truly epic scene in air travel. While Bruce is closing the door I see a horrific expression emerge on this fag's face. Apparently the corpse like stench I left behind in the bathroom is now firmly up in his grill. He is trying to close the door at arms length and his mouth is wide open and and his eyes are squinting. He finally gets the door closed and he looks to be hyperventilating trying to get some fresh air. Guy is literally gagging as the green cloud is now trapped in his drink cart area.
I am hyterical walking back to my seat and he sees me laughing at him but I don't care. The guy next to me asks what is so funny and decline to answer and just shake my head and put on my headphones and begin to doze off as the turbulence subsides. Needless to say Bruce and I did not make any form of eye contact when I exited the aircaft an hour later.
So we taxi down the runway and the Captain annouces the first 20 minutes or so will be quite turbulent. I look out at the tornadic like conditions and begin to panic to the point I am poised to get up and rap on the pilot's door asking him to turn around, that I have had enough. But I decide to tough it out and prompty tighten my seat belt to the point circulation to my legs is cut off.
So we take off and get to be what is our cruising altitude and we are bouncing around pretty good. Then it hits me. Due to the infinte Grey Goose I consumed the last few days and the greasy airport breakfast, my stomach begins to rage. The bottom line is I have to take a massive shit and I maybe have like five minutes before D-Day. Obviously the last thing anyone wants to ever have to endure is taking a shit on an airplane and given the turbulence it makes the situation even worse.
I have to move quick and I am able to squeeze by fat guy and begin to make my way to the back of the plane. Effeminite Bruce is tending to his drink cart looks up and is in a state of shock I am out of my seat. In a lispy and loud voice "Sir the captain has the theetbelt sign on". I explain I have serious business to handle and he lispes "Sir I am just letting you know the theetbelt sign is on" this time even louder. Really? So that is what that illuminated object means? All these years I thought it meant something else.
WTF, do you really think I want to be going through this highly unpleasent expeirence. It's not like I am walking in there with the NY Times. I want to get in and out and back to my seat as quick as possible. What a prick, and kindly get the fucking cart out of my way. I quickly get inside the 2'x2' cube, unfasten my belt and promptly coat the inside of the metallic bowl. What a glorious feeling and I sit there for another couple minutes making sure there is not going to be a repeat. The plane is still bouncing and I cautiously emerge from the lav and there is Bruce, tidying up the drink cart while giving me a Fuck You type of glare.
So I walk back to my seat and halfway down the aisle I hear a metal object banging. Its the door to the bathroom flopping feverishly. Obviously I did not close it properly and Bruce is having a near panic attack maneuvering around the cart to get to the door. Then I witness a truly epic scene in air travel. While Bruce is closing the door I see a horrific expression emerge on this fag's face. Apparently the corpse like stench I left behind in the bathroom is now firmly up in his grill. He is trying to close the door at arms length and his mouth is wide open and and his eyes are squinting. He finally gets the door closed and he looks to be hyperventilating trying to get some fresh air. Guy is literally gagging as the green cloud is now trapped in his drink cart area.
I am hyterical walking back to my seat and he sees me laughing at him but I don't care. The guy next to me asks what is so funny and decline to answer and just shake my head and put on my headphones and begin to doze off as the turbulence subsides. Needless to say Bruce and I did not make any form of eye contact when I exited the aircaft an hour later.
