The Middle Seat Traveler - Meet Crummy

There's a reason people have love/hate relationships with air travel. This particular tale happens to be one of hatred, as on my most recent cross-country journey, I found myself seated aside one of, if not the world's most repulsive individuals. Allow me to elaborate.

She looked normal upon approach, of course, else I would have persisted in my search for the best possible seat (open seating is certainly another airline offering that poses as a curse and a blessing, but that's one for another day). I zeroed in on this woman and gave her the universally recognized eye contact and nod that we all know on airplanes communicates, "I'm going to be sharing a row with you. Please accept my proposal and stand up to let me in." The woman obliged, and I settled into my only option in this particular row - a middle seat. (It's becoming clear that middle seats are bad, bad, bad to me -  "The Middle Seat Traveler - 21B").  No more than a few minutes after I was seated, I realized the astronomic mistake I had just made.

This woman, let's call her Crummy, thought it a good idea to bring along a little snack for the flight. Once I was settled in and therefore, committed and stuck, Crummy decided she'd start eating. Slowly, as if to not disturb a plane full of sleeping babies, she delicately pulled open the seat pocket in front of her. Peering down into it, she retrieved an unidentified brown paper bag. Ever so gingerly, she set it atop her lap and slowly and carefully, Crummy opened the sac and lowered her overly wide hand down into it. Slowly still, her hand emerged from the bag with a small fragment of an egg sandwich. Odd. This coming too, from a fellow egg lover. As the morsel made contact with her lips, a shower of flaky crumbs were released into thin air, most of which landed on Crummy's chest and belly, but copious amounts of which also ended up in my lap. She released a satisfied moan, which startled me at first and then frankly, pissed me off. I leaned forward and looked directly at her - yet another universal symbol for "what you're doing is disturbing me" - and simultaneously, began brushing her egg crumbs off of my lap in aggressive and dramatic motions. Crummy didn't waver. Instead, she began to brush the crumbs from her bosom in my direction, causing even more to land on my undeserving lap, and then, to actually grab hold of the fabric on her blouse and do a sort of fan flick action several times, sending the remaining chunks flying. My best horrified face and most noticeable sweeping gesture was no match. I knew that if ever a time to truly master the art of unspoken body language and gestures was needed, it was now. I produced one last really mad face, craning my neck to stare her in the face. She needed to know how badly I thought her behavior. Crummy noticed my glare, smiled big and reached forward for the brown bag.

I gave up. She couldn't be bothered. She was in some sort of trance or possibly was heavily medicated. The latter, actually making the most sense.

Crummy continued this charade for the better part of an hour - the same slow and careful process, each bite emerging from the brown sac tinier than the prior and each time releasing a sigh of delight and a mist of egg flake - at which point she had finally consumed all that there was of this vile egg sandwich. She retreated back into her chair as if to take a siesta from all the hard work, but not before one final victory catapult of egg morsels into my now stained and completely beaten-down lap.

It was the worst recorded air travel account to date. And despite my trepidation, here's to getting ready to hop on the flight back home. For the love of God, I will be avoiding the middle seat.