If you sneeze on an airplane, everyone immediately hates you. I promise guys, I only have allergies. No Ebola here today. I’ve sneezed four times on this flight home to California and I’m sure that the gentleman next to me wants nothing more than to move.
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I can sense the fear. Plus, he took an Emergen-C pill right after I sneezed the second time and crossed himself.
I love travel, I truly do. I’ve been to twelve countries, driven across the United States, and willingly gone to Detroit several times (just kidding, love you guys). When you travel, you get to meet all sorts of amazing people: there’s the shop-owner in Athens who taught us dirty words in Greek, the French students who beat my asthmatic ass up and down the beach playing soccer in Nice, and the German couple who hitched a ride with my boyfriend and I across the Golden Gate Bridge because it was a much longer walk than they intended, to name the first few that pop into my head. People are great.
I do not, however, enjoy taking long flights alone. I can only do so much Sudoku and eat so many Delta Biscoff cookies before I end up getting creepy and watching Netflix on the laptop of the guy next to me. From what I can infer from no sound and stolen glances at the screen, he is watching either a drama about a murder or a romantic foreign film.
When I get desperate for something to do, usually two to three hours into a flight, I find myself periodically looking out the window attempting to figure out how far I am from my destination by identifying geographical points I know absolutely nothing about. In my head, I’m the next Christopher Columbus.
“Those look like Adirondacks. We must be in Arizona already.”
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Netflix guy is on to me, I think. Or the last sneeze really bothered him. I’ll never figure out who the killer/kisser was now.
I also wrote this entire post first on a decrepit iTouch before transferring it to a laptop. I won this sucker in a raffle years ago, when iPods were still hot stuff and you wanted them to match your neat-o flip phone. I’m too embarrassingly weak to retrieve my laptop from my carry-on, and the iPod said it knew what WiFi was, so I figured I would be able to upload something from the notepad app.
Turns out that the iPod saying it knows what WiFi is is comparable to me saying I know what Adirondacks are.
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