Why Do I Attract All The Boozers?
I must secrete some type of pheromone that makes the first class airplane boozers sit next to me. I can’t believe that this is all governed by the vagaries of the seat assignment computer. I must be attracting these men, somehow.
On my flight from Phoenix, I found myself seated next to Grizzly Adams. I really mean it. He was huge, with stringy hair held in a ponytail (is it still called a ponytail when worn by a man?) and a bushy beard. I hate to admit it, but I wondered what the hell he was doing in first class. He belonged in a pickup truck in rural West Virginia.
He looked up at me when I moved to sit down with a strange expression on his face. I thought that maybe he didn’t want me sitting next to him. It was only later that I realized he was drunk as hell.
He proceeded to order bottle after bottle of Jack Daniels. I’ve never seen someone drink so much. One time he asked the flight attendant for coffee. Hoorah, I thought, finally he’s drinking something else. Then he added, “and bring me another bottle of Jack for the coffee.” I sighed.
Luckily he was a quiet drunk. He barely spoke the entire flight. When he had to go to the bathroom, he just tapped me and pointed. I waited for him to hit the floor as he navigated to the bathroom. He returned without incident and ordered another Jack.
Finally the flight attendant told him that he was out of Jack, thinking that the man would just cease his first class drinking binge, but no. He then said, “Well what else d’ya got?” He received two more bottle of Chivas before the fight attendant finally cut him off. Last I saw him he was vertical, lumbering confusedly toward baggage claim. I would have bet money that they would have needed a crane to get him out of his seat.
This morning, I was upgraded to first again for my flight to Dallas. The guy who sat next to me looked pretty benign. But when the flight attendant asked what we wanted to drink before takeoff, everyone else said juice, coffee and that sort of thing. This guy says, “a Bloody Mary.” I was aghast! It’s 7:15 AM, for fuck’s sake! I would be embarrassed to order alcohol at that time of the morning. Geez. Where is the decency.
After his first drink, he started humming to himself. OK, I thought, here we go again.
He had two more BMs while we were airborne, and more humming (and some muttering) ensued. Luckily I was so damn tired that I passed out and heard little of it.
Now I enjoy a nice drink as much as the next guy, but good-ness! Ten bottles of Jack and 2 of Chivas? It’s a wonder the man had a pulse.
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