I’ve gotten several requests for the follow on story of how I survived my plane ride to Reno so in order to please the masses here it is.

As I approached my seat it became clear to me that not only was I sitting in the same row as the family from hell, but in fact, all three seats, to include mine, were occupied by Ms. Joplin, Mr. Hendrix and baby “Sun-Flower”.  The ugly vein that appears near my left temple when I become upset began to pulse so violently that for a moment I believed I was having an aneurism.

I fought the urge to disembark the aircraft and calmly stated “I believe you’re sitting in my seat”.  I’m pretty sure that as I spoke bits of enamel were fluttering down from my mouth as I visibly ground my molars to nubs.  The sound of disintegrating teeth combined with the pulsing vein in my forehead should have cued my fellow passengers that I was quite distressed over the seating arrangements, but alas Jerry Garcia was oblivious.  He looked at me, smiled and said “Hey, wow, okay, cool, glad you’re here- you want to hold my son?”

A vein surfaced on the right side of my forehead that I had never seen before.

I did not reply to his inquiry as I was unsure what FAA regulations I would be violating with the profane string of explicative’s that I was prepared to respond with.   

After much debate Mom and Dad decided that I should take the window seat.  Luckily, Dad was only slightly morbidly obese allowing me ample space to spread out and comfortably enjoy the four-hour flight.  I took my seat opened my book and made every attempt to avoid the obligatory small talk that airline passengers often feel compelled to engage in.

The next several hours are a blur.  I made every effort to avoid interaction with my newly adopted family.  I read a novel.  I watched an $11 movie that I had no desire to see.  I worked on my lap top.   I studied the complimentary “Sky Mall” magazine cover to cover- in fact; I think I ordered an indoor dog bathroom and a set of “Cats in Motion” figurines.  I hope Connie doesn’t find that receipt- I’ll never be able to explain.  Oh, I also drank seven miniature bottles of merlot.  The flight attendant must have understood the position I was in because she hovered near my row and kept them coming as fast as I could produce my credit card.

The only person who had it worse than me on my flight to Reno was the poor girl sitting in front of baby “Moon-Beam”.  That poor kid got kicked in the head rest so many times that by the time we landed she had to be wheeled off wearing a whiplash collar. 

Next time I drive…