I have got to get status

I know I have not been the most faithful of "posters", but things have been hectic.

I have been flying out to the west coast lately and since I have switched airlines I do not have status. This means that I am not Silver, Gold, Platinum, Executive Platinum, Super-duper upside down Jade, or anything. You see there are certain perks that come with elite status. Several of those perks include, priority boarding, priority seating, first-class upgrades and express lines through security. Now all of these are good points, but you are probably asking yourself what's the deal with priority seating. I have thought the same thing myself. Priority seating means that you will typically sit with other business travelers, if the plane is not full then you will have a seat between you and the other person, or if it is available you have first access to exit row. I never really thought it was that big of a deal about priority seating... UNTIL TODAY!

I was sitting in my row of 2 by myself (Seat 23B, I will never forget that number) this morning contemplating the work and sleep I was going to accomplish. In my own world, I didn't notice her until she is already upon me. This rather large lady walks past me with a small child (no more than 4 or 5 months old) and begins to struggle to put her carry-on in the overhead compartment. This rather nice lady begins to help her with the luggage and I think to myself "Great I get to sit in front of the screaming child". Oh how wrong I was! The lady who I swear was a samoan sumo wrestler says, "ecuse me sir, that's my seat". I think to myself, "Hell is now on Earth" That's right kids, I sat next to Jabba the Hut and her offspring for 3 and half hours.

After asking me to allow her to her seat, 45 minutes later Jabba gets herself wedged in her seat. The polite lady who helped her get her luggage loaded then offers Jabba a blanket to which I automatically realize is going to cause a problem. Jabba was at least 2 and half bills if not 3 hundy. So there is barely rooms for her hips (which were perfect for birthing... cattle) much less the 1/16 of an inch blanket doubled over. Immediately my seat is cut in half. The polite lady is now my mortal enemy!

There are certain games you learn to play on the airplane when jockeying for the armrest. Move your arm back to get behind the other persons arm. Gently nudge them to make them uncomfortable. If they go to the restroom, GAME OVER! Completely take over (more on this later). There was none of this. Her elbow was immediately in my rib cage.

As we sat there preparing to take off the baby began to squeal and play. She put her hand on my should as to say, "It's all going to be ok" or "You are now my bitch"... I am betting on the latter. The child was excited to be on the plane and let everyone know by shrilling at the top of her lungs! She also thought everything on my person was a toy. I frantically dig through my brief case... iPod! Found it. Put the head phones on and hit the Play button. NOTHING! Is this some sort of cruel joke? The iPod's battery is dead. My second thought is laptop. I have a few MP3's so if the banshee decides to let anymore blood curdling shrills loose then I will be able to muffle them with my melodies. I also reason that I can get some work done. If I can only make it to after take off!

At this time the captain comes over the intercom and has a happy and cheery tone telling us how great it is to be alive and how everything is wonderful. Note to self, "Stab pilot in neck with pen upon exiting the plane".

From the moment Jabba sat down, the baby began to squirm and everytime the child moved Jabba's elbow entrenched itself deeper between 3rd and 4th rib. Once we get to cruising altitude, I pull out my laptop in the hopes of getting a little work done and drowning out the squeals from Satan's spawn! I finally know what is meant by weaping and gnashing of teeth. I open the laptop and contort my body to a position that has only been seen in Cirque Du Soleil. The child in the middle seat across the row thought I was playing a game. I swear, Jabba began to consume her seat and my arm rest like the blob. I only realized that my body was contorted after I left my seat about an hour into the flight. I get up to go to the bathroom and receive a reprieve and realize that I now need a chiropractor. I come back to seat to realize that Jabba's arm is now not only in my chair, but one of her ginormous sausage-like feet is now in the middle of my foot space. I perch my left cheek on the seat and pray for a quick death.

The last hour of the flight, the portly pair began to nap and were not as quick to jab me in the ribs. All around it was a miserable flight, I need status, and I hate happy people.