In The Belly Of The Damned

December 2, 2009

in Odds & Ends Stories

What was I to do, just one seat left in all of “Business Class” on Iberia’s flight 6824, non-stop Sao Paolo to Madrid? Of course, without any hesitation, I told my dear Marcia she must be the one sit up front and I will join my fellow passengers in second class, or “economy” as it is called in polite society. Yes, I freely admit that after exclusively travelling “Business Class” for some years now for all of my international flights, and there are many, I have become somewhat of a snob, or I prefer to say, “accustomed to the finer things.” I should also add that I have never paid for this luxury, nor would/will I; I only fly when my “special blend of magic” allows me this option. After all, anyone could pay for the privilege; it is so much more delightful doing it my way…

So, I thought no problem, for years I joined my fellow man in amongst the masses, placing my derrière firmly, if ever so tightly in the painfully small seating allotment. Piece of cake. Of course, I am seasoned enough to request the emergency exit row, or at least the first row allowing me that little bit of extra space to stretch and unwind. “Tatiana” was most helpful, a young girl of maybe 20 years old trying to do her best for me, to ensure my flight home would be as painless as possible. I believe it was for this reason she sat me next to the Rabbi, 10B, isle seat, first row. I must say, with the greatest amount of respect for this biblical scholar, he was, to say it as kindly as possible, “unclean.” We were not off to a good start. Thank you “Tatiana.”

The Rabbi and I didn’t have much to talk about, he seemed intent on simply reading his novel, in Italian, and every few minutes, taking the time to adjust himself. I am being polite here. You see, the Rabbi was a tall man, and even though we both had the luxury of the extra leg room, to stretch out, he seemed to have great discomfort, for the entire duration of the nearly 10 hour flight, in his crotch area. Constantly adjusting, or shall I dare to say “fondling,” his genitals? He handled this act with great ease as only an accomplished professional could. Don’t ask how he managed to continue to adjust his “package,” as well enjoy a glass of red wine and snack on a rye crisp all at the same time, a man of many talents this Rabbi was. It wasn’t long into our journey when I started to feel home sick for “…the finer things.”

Normally I resist too many beverages on board an airplane, but today was different. I allowed myself 2 glasses of wine which ensured I was “lightly toasted” and would need to visit the opulent “full sized” lavatory aboard the aircraft, numerous times. My seating, along side my new friend who I came to think of as “Dr. Feelgood,” placed me directly behind the lavatory. I was so close I could clearly make out the “vacant” sign which teased me throughout most of the flight, from my seat. Once again, piece of cake one would think. This was not to be. At first need to relieve myself, I smoothly made way for the door, “vacant” as it were. But, out of nowhere, there she was. The “bouncer.” I had come to believe that flight attendants, at least in “Business Class”, were of a special breed of cheerful helpful young ladies, and effeminate males, who were eager to please me in any way possible, to ensure my time in their care, was to be as pleasant as possible. The “bouncer” forced me to reconsider.

I wear a goatee and have for years. I think it looks nice on my face, maybe even takes a few years off too. It did not have the same effect on the “bouncer.” Her facial hair was anything but attractive. Although she certainly did seem to wear it with pride. She used her sheer, physical presence to block my path as she instructed me that this vacant lavatory was for the “exclusive use of the Business Class clients.” Well I thought, I will just explain to her that I was of this class, only by some extraordinary misalignment of the stars did I somehow wind up here, in the back, alongside “Dr. Feelgood.” The “bouncer” showed no mercy. She gave me a stern warning that I was to obey her instructions, without delay, or there would be trouble. It was as though I was living a nightmare. Help me. Somebody. Marcia, please tell them… My silent cries went unanswered.

And so it was, I turned and headed to the back of the plane, to the nearest lavatory, wondering as I took each careful step if I would be met by the ever welcoming sign sought by weary travellers for so many years; “vacant,” or would it be the horrid realization that my private chamber was in fact “occupied”?

Now here is where things started to get out of control. I had not ventured so far into the “belly of the dammed” as I like to call it, also known as “economy,” in quite some time. Years in fact. Things were out of control. Wine was running through my body and something needed to be done about this and fast. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a full circus back there. Babies crying. People out of their seats, walking around seemingly in a daze. Small children running up and down the narrow corridor. An organ grinder playing his music while his monkey runs amok, slapping weary passengers on the head with his tin cup, was it tips he was after or something more mischievous? The smell was horrible, the mass of humanity, the goats, chicken droppings… just terrible. All I could think of was “vacant,” please oh please, let me see the welcoming sign of compassion for my misery.

Then I saw it. The lavatory was mine. Vacant. As I reached for the door, a small little girl, cute as a button, not more than seven years old appeared out of nowhere. She had the most adorable pony tail, this sweet little thing just charged in front of me and made way for my lavatory, the one I had just parted the seas as Moses had done so long ago to reach. Well, I was faster than she, I yanked that sweet little pony tail as hard as I could and sent her flying, this to the delight of the organ grinders monkey who smiled a big grin as though to say “I am with you my friend, I too don’t belong here.”

And then, as if it were all just a dream and I would awake comfortably in my “nest,” in “Business Class,” where I belong, at any minute, I found myself alone in the lavatory. The circus. The parting of the seas. That crazed little girl. All of it, I handled all of it. But now, the panic sets in. Out of nowhere, my heart starts to beat faster, I feel true anxiety. My mind starts to play tricks on me, tempting me to go down the dark road of fantasy, of what if? What if there are Terrorists aboard? What if there is some deadly Ebola type virus back here, amongst the dammed? What if there is no way out, no way to communicate to my Marcia, in “Business Class,” as certainly in the event of any tragedy, “Business Class” would immediately be closed off from the rest of the airplane, wouldn’t it?

To be continued….

Keven

{ 24 comments… read them below or add one }

Just Me December 2, 2009 at 7:06 pm

why was this dribble even posted? Obviously the person thinks themselves to be an aspiring fiction writer.

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Hugh December 3, 2009 at 12:24 am

You seem moderately talented at writing, though I would suggest an editor (it's aisle seat, not isle). This is not, however a short story site, it's flights from hell. I have no clue why this male bovine excrement , to phrase it in your parlance, would ever be posted to this site.

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Mark December 3, 2009 at 12:56 am

Dude, not even your fictional character knows that business class is not that much better than coach, really…

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TK December 3, 2009 at 1:48 am

WTF?? Is this guy for real? The story got REALLY stupid about four lines in. You're trying too hard, dude.

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B December 3, 2009 at 2:35 am

Please… don't let this wanna be writer post and second part of this story. It was unamusing and extremely boring.

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Josh December 3, 2009 at 4:07 am

I didn't read past the first paragraph. 🙁

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madachode December 3, 2009 at 6:05 am

For all of the postings that I have ever commented on, this guy really needs to stay home and die quickly.

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xxx March 28, 2013 at 11:31 pm

the only time i've agreed with one of your comments

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Aaron December 3, 2009 at 7:28 am

I might give up on this website if they keep posting such obvious made up crap. I've submitted two real stories that have never made it to the site for reasons I don't understand. Both had more to do with flights from hell than this kind of narcissistic drivel. I guess I'll check back in a week or so to see if there is anything interesting here. The current story is just a sad joke.

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Jane December 3, 2009 at 8:35 am

::snore:: Huh? Did I miss something?

I fell asleep after the "I told my dear Marcia she must be the one sit up front and I will join my fellow passengers in second class, or “economy” as it is called in polite society" segment of the story.

Get over yourself, schmuck. Your sh*t stinks just like everyone else's.

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CC December 3, 2009 at 8:55 am

Well, I thought this story was hilarious. I hope he does continue it!

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Paula December 3, 2009 at 9:07 am

If I was "my Marcia" I would stongly consider becoming a Lesbian.

Just the thought of your company gives me the willys

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madachode December 3, 2009 at 9:10 am

"I have a goatee." Well you know what that makes you look like to a prisoner? Hair around the mouth? Can you guess?

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Claire December 3, 2009 at 9:28 am

Is this story even true? I have issues with the Rabbi story. As a Jewess from a long line of Rabbi's (My father is a Rabbi & 6 of my 7 brothers have a Rabbinic decree although only 3 of them are practicing Rabbi's) I do not believe for one milli second that this Rabbi (how do you know he was a Rabbi? did he tell you? or did you assume by his skullcap that he was one?) was drinking wine! It is forbidden according to Jewish law to drink wine that does not have a Rabbinic supervision label on it & as far as I know airplanes don't stock it!!

Also, the novel part does not ring true, I don't know why but it seems odd.

As to the other 'flaw'…….. no comment!

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monty December 3, 2009 at 9:47 am

shut up shut up shut up. start your own long winded, self-absorbed blog where the rest of us don't have to read your tripe.

do not indulge this person's delusions or grandeur by posting part two.

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MJ December 3, 2009 at 12:53 pm

Claire, "Jewess?" Seriously? This isn't the middle ages.

But this story is painfully purple prose. Turn it down about 100 notches, Kev.

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Smiling Charmer December 3, 2009 at 1:16 pm

of all the posters in Flights from Hell, this guy manages to be the biggest schmuk. What a loser.

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Bob December 3, 2009 at 3:56 pm

You people don't have a sense of humor. I laughed my fat ass over the story.

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EB December 3, 2009 at 10:04 pm

This is a very bizarre 'flight from hell story.' If a person wants to write a novella, great, but I don't think it belongs here.

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Other December 4, 2009 at 3:31 am

@Bob: I have a sense of humour. I saw this as a sarcastic piece aimed at some of the "complaints" raised in other stories on this site, written in terrible prose to mock the egotistical views espoused by some other authors. I did not think it worked, and thus do not find it funny.

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Demotage December 4, 2009 at 9:53 am

As I read this story, I imagined it was being written by Eustace Tilly

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Demotage December 4, 2009 at 10:12 am

'Other' is right. This is satirical fiction. Any doubts about that were banished when I got to the monkey, goats and chicken droppings.

But as a piece of fiction I have one issue with it. Since the author got to choose his characters, making 'Dr. Feelgood' a Rabbi seems a bit of gratuitious anti-semitism. It seemed that way to me and I'm not Jewish.

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david December 4, 2009 at 11:40 am

um get overyourself, you me the guy next to you and yes even a homeless person are still humans, we all work hard (or try to) and the majority cant afford "fine life" or however you said it

congrats i travel first class and business but i dont see myself as better than anyone else and i dont treat people like dirt the way you do, you do not get respect by putting others down and expect people to treat you the way you feel you should be treated byh lookin down on others

if i was that girls mother or father i woulda slapped you for pulling my daughters hair, than called the cops when we landed and than laugh in your face as your dragged away by the cops in handcuffs and maybe than you'll see the real life

besides the airlines i travel on (singapore, virgin, qantas) lavratories are pretty much the same throughout the plane, its a bathroom on a plane get overyourself its not a 5star resort

go live your "finer life" and see what happens when you encounter real life and when you meet the ordinary people, stuck up bitch

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Kad December 15, 2009 at 4:45 pm

Pulled that little pony tail hard did you? And had a moment of understanding with a monkey? Are you writing a story about a psychopath?

Albert Camus 'The Outsider' (properly translated as "The Stranger" – 'L-Etranger) would be a good guide for this kind of story. Only he did it right. You try to mix a cacophony of unrelated literary stimuli with a non-thinking protaganist.

Self-publishing is your only option, but please don't do it here. Writers' Write might be a better choice.

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