I’m not a big fan of flying, but since I love to travel I can’t always avoid airplanes. It’s not that I’m afraid of crashing—I tend to go with the statistics on that and hope for the best. (I have a similar approach to the stock market and swimming right after lunch.) My fear is of a more insidious, slow kind: Death by plane germs (plerms).
What child picked its nose and wiped it on my arm rest? Who is that coughing up a lung in the exit row? How many heads have rested on this miniature dust mite farm some call a pillow? Am I in good enough shape to stiff-arm the flight attendant in case I have to flee from some errant projectile vomit? Is there a clear path from my seat to the lavatory? (I could write an entire post on lavatory protocol alone.)
Now imagine if you will, sitting next to me on a plane, and you’ll have a glimpse into the life of the bravest, most tolerant man I’ve ever known: Mr. Weenie. Let’s face it, neuroses this deep don’t limit themselves to the friendly skies. (You should see me try to make lasagna or parallel park downtown.)
After disinfecting the armrests, confirming the presence of an airsickness bag for the passenger sitting next to me and checking the emergency card to make sure my chair turns into a raft, I pull out that well-worn, guilty pleasure/holy grail of the air—Sky Mall. Now that’s my kind of mile-high club.
What better way to pass the time than losing oneself in page after page of never before dreamed of items that are suddenly critical to one’s happiness? Here are a few of my favorite finds from our recent trip:
Okay, now I’m ready to sit back, relax and enjoy the flight.
Tune in next time for Part 4 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.