Walking down to take my seat on a plane about two weeks ago. And guess who got there before me? None other than World's Fattest Man. Now, I know I am prone to exaggeration but HE REALLY WAS. This guy was so fat that he had the arm rest up to fit him into the seat. When he saw me approaching he w-r-e-n-c-h-e-d it back down.
Now, this man's stomach was so large that he could only just clasp his hands together across his tummy. This was okay except for the minor detail that when he dozed off the giant chubby arm would slide down BAM! onto me. This would wake him up and he would replace his arm back on top of Mount Stomach. This whole scenario was made even more unpleasant by the fact these mini naps were accompanied by THE.MOST.EARTH.SHATTERING.SNORING.YOU.HAVE.EVER.HEARD. It was a guttural GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA........GAAAAAAA.AAAAAAAAA.
Needless to say, I scampered to a new seat at the back of the plane as soon as was humanly possibly.
The following day I was on another plane, buried in the paper when I heard a booming voice say, 'Would you please excuse me while I manoeuvre my massive frame into the seat beside you.'
Well, as least he was polite about it.
Exhibit #3 (And after reading this, you will understand why I don't want 'things happen in threes to be superseded by 'things happen in nines', anytime soon - unless of course you're talking about winning the lottery).
Two days ago I was walking to my seat, 3F. However there was already somebody occupying 3F, as well as half of 3E. This wouldn't have been so much of a problem if her sister wasn't already sitting in the other half of 3E and all of 3D.
If possession is 7/8 of the law, the law was definitely on their side.
'Excuse me,' I said sheepishly, 'I'm in 3F.'
This aisle-seat-occupying sister gave me a filthy look as if it was my fault her arse was the size it was, and half heartedly did a shuffle to the right, (oh yeah, there was no way the arm rests were going to see any action on this flight, these women made World's Fattest Man seem like Kirsty Alley immediately after the Jenny Craig campaign) leaving me about thirty centimetres.
I wedged my butt into the slice of seat available and noted all the empty seats surrounding us and wondered whether they were silently either mocking or seducing me.
Thankfully a nice airline person came and rescued me from sardine seating situation. I am not sure if I was rescued because he took pity on me or because he knew there was no way I was going to get my selt belt on as it was buried somewhere, er, rather impossible to get to.
Having this occur three times in under two weeks did make me start to wonder if there is a note beside my name in the bookings that says ' not a huge surface area, make her share.' And if there is, I never want to have to pay for excess luggage again.
Yesterday I was flying home and bumped into a friend and was telling him about the fat sisters, and he remarked, 'Oh no, you were sitting beside a couple of two seaters.'I most certainly was, and five into three doesn't go, especially when you're on a plane.