a new meaning to cabbage patch

look what my roommate (aka honey) found!

running out of luck

i came back from Chicago today, on UA 682. it was literally the only flight not canceled or delayed out of ORD to LGA (see picture). as i stared at the departure board in disbelief, i thought to myself, “great, i totally just used up all of my luck for the rest of the week.”

i wasn’t very surprised, then, to find myself wedged between the window and the belly of a very large man from oregon. before i even had a chance to give him a pursed, but sincere, smile of acknowledgment, he asked if he could leave the armrest up so as not to cut into his excess baggage. well, he didn’t use those words exactly, but it was something like that.

i’m the first to admit that at times i may appear to be fickle. boyfriends, dear friends, family, and wait staff have all told me that. but i swear there is, to use a tired cliché, a method to my madness.

example of a "method":

at any given day, i will or will not talk to the person seated next to me on a plane if:

1. said person orders tomato juice – no talk
2. said person orders liquor on a morning flight – no talk
3. said person smells – no talk (too busy breathing through my mouth)
4. said person is a weathered female who looks like she has a good story to tell – yes talk
5. said person is hot – yes talk
6. said person is reading a book that i have read – yes talk, but usually only to say “i read that book!”, then no talk.
7. said person is drinking Heineken with shots of Jack irrespective of time of day – no talk

my fellow passenger fell into category #7. i immediately put on my headphones and tried to lose myself in Depeche Mode.

it didn’t work. he (and i am not kidding you), removed my right ear bud and said:

man: do you live in new york?

irene: yes

man: so how far is my hotel from laguardia airport?

irene: (shrug)

man: i’m staying at the crown plaza times square

irene: maybe 30 minutes by cab

man: but how many miles?

irene: no idea. i don’t drive. i have a bad sense of direction.

man: why don’t you drive?

irene: do you mind if i put my headphones back on?

***two songs worth of time elapses***

man: do you know if i can buy hats and “i love new york” t- shirts near my hotel?

irene: yes, you are in times square.

man: so…i’m close?

irene: you are not only close, you are IN times square. crown plaza TIMES SQUARE.

man: so, then…close.

irene: (in my head) i am so done with you.

i put on my head phones and flipped through skymall. even skymall couldn’t cheer me up.

the last ten minutes of my flight was him staring out the window. unfortunately, my head was in the way and he punished it by staring into the canal of my right ear. then we did the head dance, i.e. i moved back to give him a better view just as he moved back right as i moved forward because he moved back right as he moved forward because he moved back. you get the picture. people do that dance on the street sometimes. we did that same dance, only with our heads and on an airplane. let me tell you, it's a lot funnier on the street. he was annoyed, evidenced by his deep sighs and fidgeting. i almost turned to him and said, “i’m extremely sorry that my head isn’t one big piece of plexiglass.” but i didn’t, and for that, i am very very proud of myself.

i can’t wait for my luck to replenish itself next week.