Catching Up Part 3

The Last Guy to Get on the Plane

I recently flew to Atlanta for yet another business trip.

I am a man with long hair. I possess a fair amount of pride and vanity about my hair. I don’t appreciate it when my hair is threatened. This is a story about my flight to Atlanta and how my hair came to be threatened.

I was recently granted some sort of metallic elite status on a certain major airline. This metallic elite status provides me with certain privileges such as standing in the shorter metallic elite lines, getting on the plane first and free upgrades to business or first class when they are available.

On this particular trip to Atlanta, I was upgraded to first class, but alas, my second leg found me in steerage class with the rest of my ilk (I actually don’t mind this so much – I feel a little like an imposter in First Class – like they’re going to throw me out any second). My first leg was a redeye during which I slept almost the entire time.

Apparently I had not slept enough as when I sat in my steerage class seat on the aisle I fell immediately asleep. I was woken up some time later by The Last Guy to Get on the Plane. He had apparently been assigned to the middle seat in my row. I could tell that he was The Last Guy to Get on the Plane because nobody else was getting on the plane. I stood, groggily, to let him sit down and just as I did this, he reached up to check the overhead bin to see if there was room for his carry-on – the fact that all the overhead bins were closed clued me in to the fact that The Last Guy to Get on the Plane had been late – I have a problem with tardiness – especially when it wakes me up. I have a problem with tardiness – especially when it threatens my hair. His reaching past my head to open the overhead bin caused a draft that caused my hair to fly up in the back. He must have noticed that the bin was full because he slammed it down quickly, catching my hair in the overhead bin. I knew it had happened. I tilted my head forward slightly and confirmed that yes, my hair was indeed caught in the overhead bin. I looked at the man and he was looking at me – “Oh – I’m sorry…,” he said, reaching up to open the bin. I held up a hand, indicating that he should stop. “Don’t,” I said. “Just don’t.” I reached up behind me, opened the bin and released my hair.

The Last Guy to Get on the Plane put his carry-on in the bin opposite and moved quickly past me to take his middle seat. I sat down and went right back to sleep. I had not been out very long when the The Last Guy to Get on the Plane tapped me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes. We were flying. If looks could kill I’m sure mine would have eviscerated this poor man where he sat, causing a river of blood to fill the plane. “Hey,” he said, pointing over my shoulder. “There’s a whole row of empty seats over there! I’m gonna move.” I did not speak. My look did not soften. I stood and watched him move, ready to commit air rage at the slightest threat to my hair. He completed the move without incident. I sat down and returned to sleep.

Thanks for playing.