Astounded by Huge Hairdo and Portly Passenger

December 15, 2010

in Portly Stories

This isn’t really a flight from hell… but it could have been for two passengers! However, it was Scrimmy to the rescue!

*Play Heroic Theme Music*

Okay, really… I’m quite small. 4’10 and a whopping eighty-nine pounds. Petite little lady, am I. It’s not unusual for people to ask me if I know where my mommy and daddy are–until they realize I have boobs that would not be normal on a nine year old. It’s kind of funny for me, considering I’m in my late-twenties (I make a joke of it and ask if they want to buy me some candy). Flying isn’t usually a problem for me, since I actually have to put effort into taking up space. Hell, I could probably ride quite comfortably in a cup holder.

So I was heading from Alaska to visit some family in Missouri (ticks SUCK! Erm… literally and figuratively). I’ve done the trip before a few times… long, boring, with dull layovers that would drive any immortal insane. I’ve had my fair share of hellish flights, but I’m going to start with something more pleasant. I had to switch planes in Colorado after a gruelingly tedious layover. Fortunately I had only my small carry-on baggie that contained the essentials: iPod, Gummie Bears, water, and an electronic poker game. Everything I could ever want!

It was late in Colorado when I boarded the plane for the three-some-odd hour flight. I found my seat and slipped in. At first I was happy about a window seat–but then I realized it was pitch-black outside, the view was crap, oh well. I was only a few rows back from the bulkhead in Coach, and I enjoyed myself as I watched passengers climb aboard and find their seats. Then this woman sat in the seat directly in front of me, and I kid you not when I say her Afro NEEDS to be featured in Guinness. That thing was amazing! So gloriously huge and poofy, I wanted to climb into it and nest in there… I digress…

I became quite happy when I realized that the steady flow of incoming passengers had stopped, and no one else was in my aisle. I had all three seats to pig out on! There actually were quite a few unoccupied seats, but they were sporadic–an empty seat here, an empty seat there–you get the idea. I was busy being mesmerized by that enormous Afro in front of me when something further up front distracted me… two men in bulkhead seats.

Now, these two men were quite large in different ways; one of them looked like… well, like the illegitimate lovechild of the Michelin Man and a sumo wrestler. I’ve got nothing against plumpin’ people (it’s just more to love!), but this guy went beyond plump… he also went beyond his seat and into the other next to him. I couldn’t see much of the other guy in the window seat, but it really wasn’t too hard to deduce that he was tall and broad–like you would bet money he could kick Bigfoot’s hairy butt. To make things easier, I’ll call the portly guy Bob and the broad guy George.

George, from what I could see, looked a bit squished. I can’t think of another reason you’d have your face planted on the wall of the plane… unless you were intending to eat it. We were experiencing a small delay, one of the FAs assured us we would be taking off in ten or fifteen minutes, but as far as I can remember, she never said why we were delayed. I assume they were locked in furious battle with an unruly airline peanut, and it would take ten or fifteen minutes for them to beat it into submission. So I’m staring up at Bob and George, the incredible Afro of ultimate poofiness completely forgotten, and I thought about things. Time was ticking away, I almost pulled out my Gummie Bears and reenacted Pirates of the Caribbean with them, but finally I made a decision.

I grabbed my baggie of necessities and slipped out of my seat. I made it up front and saw the situation with Bob and George was worse than I’d imagined, three seats just weren’t enough for those two behemoths. Bob was taking up almost two entire seats and George was trying, without success, to make himself as small as possible–he was a healthy dose over six feet and looked like he should’ve been wearing a football uniform rather than a suit. The overall effect was akin to trying to fit a bear and a hippo into a Mazda Miata. It didn’t look like fun–then I realized Bob was giving off a vague yet slightly nauseating sour odor, and while George was looking sharp in a suit, Bob was wearing bibs that appeared to have never made the acquaintance of laundry detergent. I suddenly felt remorse for Bob and George, and was glad I was doing what I was doing.

I smiled and tapped Bob lightly on the shoulder. As soon as I had his attention, I said, “Excuse me, sir… I’m in aisle [whatever aisle I was sitting in, I don’t recall] and it’s completely empty and… I get nervous if I’ve got no one to sit next to while flying. Would you be at all interested in trading seats with me?”

The effect was prompt and warmed my dirty little heart–Bob and George gaped at me like I had wings and a halo and was bathed in heavenly light. Bob understood he would get an empty aisle all to himself, and George understood that he’d only have to share his aisle with a borderline midget. Bob immediately accepted my offer to trade and thanked me profusely as he hoisted out of his seats. With Bob’s help, I located his carry-on in the overhead (I was suddenly feeling super-duper helpful), and carried it back to my old aisle and stowed it away for Bob, who happily took up all three empty seats in that aisle. We thanked each other, and I went up to sit with George, who looked in much better spirits, and no longer resembled an injured caterpillar trying to eat the plane. Since I always sit Indian-style, George enjoyed being able to put his yacht-sized feet anywhere he wanted. We eventually took off… I no longer was able to admire that stupendous Afro, but George was very pleasant. He even played some poker with me and treated me to breakfast in Missouri!

One thing that still bothers me, though… Bob did smell unpleasant, and I do feel sorry for the people who had to sit too close to him… including Afro-lady. Oh, Afro-lady! I can only hope your magnificent puff of hair did not wilt!

– Scrimmy

{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }

David December 15, 2010 at 4:57 pm

Idk how to say this nicely but some of the things you said kinda creeped me out


Laura December 15, 2010 at 7:32 pm

This reads like my Xanga blog when I was 15 and at least 9/10 words are extraneous filler.


JB December 16, 2010 at 8:10 am

This looks like a PAUL story to me with a new name at the bottom.


ps December 20, 2010 at 2:46 pm

Judging by the length and dramatic twists, I agree. This site is going downhill. Need some real posters, or is the flying experience improving?


memee December 16, 2010 at 10:01 am

Very nice of you, but I have to agree with the others. I wish people would just tell their story, without the heroic music, and the Afro hair style had nothing to do with anything. I too am from Missouri and you are no Mark Twain. But yeah, ticks suck.


Peace Lover December 16, 2010 at 11:36 am

Hahaha this is funny I'm laughing right now! That was wonderfully kind of you dear and I can just imagine a dramatic superhere transformation taking place. It just goes to prove that heroes come in many different forms.


paul December 16, 2010 at 1:55 pm

Think it was written by Paul's sister Paula………..

Only made it as far as the second paragraph before I got bored.


PAUL December 18, 2010 at 11:06 am

I cannot even claim this one…


JonJon December 17, 2010 at 4:09 am

It's gotta be Paul !! Two sentences I knew it ! HA!!!!



rerere December 17, 2010 at 3:24 pm

One word: PAUL, or as paul said, PAUL'S sister PAULA


Dina December 19, 2010 at 10:57 am

Here's a tip on writer's craft – cut the fat. Figure out what's necessary to the story and remove the rest.


Jet December 19, 2010 at 12:55 pm

Wow, people here sure are critical… I thought it was an excellent story. Thank you.


sashathebrit December 20, 2010 at 10:54 am

Paul, you've sprouted tits?


PAUL December 22, 2010 at 2:40 pm

I now understand why Jim, JonJon and Rerere got the surgery.


Sacha June 30, 2011 at 8:51 pm

Wow, some people on here are just too critical. I thought this was hilarious and sweet, and that you are the type of person I would love to hang out with.
It's definitely not PAUL because his stories are always mean-spirited and full of comments about how he knows everything about flying because he flies every fricking day.


JoJojohnson October 1, 2012 at 11:06 am

African-American people do not appreciate their hair being gawked at, seen as "exotic", or thought of as a place for others to "nest" in.


Hack October 1, 2012 at 4:10 pm

All of you who commented negatively above need to learn to accept a real story. I did not think for one second that this was “Paul”


Shorty November 17, 2013 at 9:45 pm

OP, I am also short in stature, and although I do not need "leg room" like my tall husband, I find that because my short legs dangle and my feet don't touch the floor, I find air travel to be just as uncomfortable as my long legged husband does. After an hour, my feet go numb and I get leg cramps. I'm surprised you don't experience the same discomfort.


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