Today I have the utter un-pleasure of being ‘that guy’ during my 22 hour journey between Europe and America. You know who I’m talking about, the guy who nobody wants to be near. The guy who sweats profusely from under his arms and half the airplane can smell the acrid over-caffeinated acidity of it. The guy who farts uncontrollably as he sleeps. His head lolls on your shoulder uncomfortably and no matter how many times you shove him away he always manages to settle right back on you, each time feeling heavier than the last. The guy who stares idly at you from across the queue without even realizing that he is making you uncomfortable and self-conscious. The guy who stands up—after sitting eight straight hours next to you on the tight airplane seats— and has a large wet sweat mark on the seat of his pants.
I’m that guy for the duration of your trip. Don’t worry, you won’t be him this time because I’ve filled the spot for this trip and my connection flight too.
