Vicodin anyone?

I flew down to Orange County from Portland this morning. It was an early flight and the airport was busier than I had anticipated. Lines were long and the help was slow making for a really sweet atmosphere. I travel to Asia a couple times a year and for big international trips my company springs for business class. The seats are large and comfortable but more importantly to me, there is plenty of space between the seats. I don’t mind the legroom typical to most coach class flights but the lack of elbow room drives me crazy.

I tend to book my travel early so I can arrange for an aisle seat. This at least gives me an open armrest and the freedom to get up whenever I choose. Today I was in seat 8D, an aisle seat on the left side of the plane as you enter. I boarded shortly before the flight took off and the gentleman seated next to me was already asleep. He had a bushy mustache and reminded me of a cop. A fat one. He was spilling generously over my armrest and into my seat and I thought, “Time to wake up, buddy.” His polo shirt had some company logo embroidered on the chest and he had bright yellow earphones stuck in his ears. He also had a sling on his right arm. Since I’ve suffered more than my share of injuries I decided to squeeze into my seat without waking him. You know, not make a fuss because he was taking up a third of my seat. “That’s my style,” I thought congratulating myself, “I hope he’s comfortable.”

About half way through the flight my seat mate woke up, groggy and maybe even a bit grumpy but who could blame him, right? It seems he was spending a hot afternoon on his motorcycle last week when the back tire blew and he was thrown a dozen or so yards before tumbling end over end breaking his collar bone. “I’m amazed that’s all you broke,” I said.

“Yeah, and I picked up a lot of road rash. Could you open my peanuts? My right arm still doesn’t have any strength.” He practically inhaled the nuts and then, before dozing off again said, “I took a couple of vicodin so I’d be comfortable on this flight.” He said it casually, as though throwing back a couple of vicodin was standard pre-flight protocol. A few years ago I tore my achilles tendon and didn’t “take a couple of vicodin.” I’ve broken bones, cracked cartilage, and mangled flesh and didn’t take a couple of vicodin.

Then he began to snore.

And then, apparently he got really, really comfortable. And began to fart. It was at this point I felt I needed a vicodin and wondered if my smelly companion would wake up if I patted him down for a fix.