During a flight a few years ago, I had an aisle seat and an Asian guy in his mid-20s had the window seat (middle seat was empty). At the gate before boarding, it was clear that he didn’t understand or speak English well. A half-hour into the flight, I noticed he was fast asleep, head leaning against the window.
In a rush to catch my flight, I had bought a prepackaged airport sandwich to eat on the plane, my lack of time overcoming my usual aversion to nitrate-laced cold-meat, fake oily cheese and something masquerading as lettuce. With three more hours of flying ahead and getting hungry, I pulled it out of my carry-on bag. The sandwich came with a packet of mayonnaise. Alas, some sadistic manufacturer hermetically sealed the mayo pack. I struggled for a good 2 minutes trying to open the damn thing. Finally I was able to tear a tiny hole at the top of the packet with my teeth, but I couldn’t get ANY mayo out. I squeezed and squeezed and with a frustrated stranglehold on the package – I SQUEEZED hard. The tiny hole blew open with the force of a mini Vesuvius and a WHOPPING dollop of mayo landed not on my waiting ham and cheese, but arched up into the air, flew past my face and landed right on the sleeping guy’s crotch! It lay there like the “money-shot” from some XXX porn film.
My mind frantically considered my options: Should I jostle him awake, point to the gooey blob at the end of his John Thomas, and try to explain? Would he understand my English? Would he think I was crazy? Would he get mad? Make a scene? Should I attempt to gently swipe it away with my napkin, praying he didn’t wake up and think I was molesting him?
As if to spite me, my wayward mayo slowly began to melt due to his body heat, oozing along the zipper of his pants, spreading outward and leaving a slick trail resembling something Ron Jeremy would be proud of.
At this point, I decided on the “who-me?” defense if accused. I swiftly hid the “evidence” – the uneaten sandwich and half-empty pack of mayo – in my carry-on, then I pretended to be innocently napping.
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Corrupted Pants awoke. Still faking a nap, I watched through slitted eyes the drama of discovery unfold. For a long, torturous moment, all he did was gaze out the window. Then he looked down at his lap. The astonished WTF expression on his face was followed by bafflement, then a growing sheepishness and embarrassment as if he assumed he had had some kind of wet-dream, but couldn’t figure out why the creamy, spreading splotch was on the outside of his pants.
He bolted up from the chair and practically ran to the rear washrooms. After considerable time he returned, the front of his pants still slightly damp from a thorough cleaning. Throughout the rest of the flight he never looked at me, but he did keep glancing furtively at his lap.
To this day the poor guy probably hasn’t a clue what really happened, but me-bad, I feel contrite and yet giggle whenever I think of it.
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
I am sure someone is going to criticize you for not owning up to it. But I admit to laughing out loud as I read your story. Sometimes the most ridiculous things really happen.
Hahaha…. very funny. BTW, you are a good writer!
This will always be my favorite story! LOL!
That's one of the funniest stories I ever heard on this site!
I am sitting here crying that is so funny