Pack Rat Den-Aisle

I find myself traveling at least once a month these days, living out of a suitcase and being suckered into buying a shot glass with my name and a drawing of a local landmark on it. I’m not really sure who these novelty name items are targeted at, maybe people who suffer from random bouts of amnesia?

“Hmm, if this keychain in my pocket is correct my name must be Derek, now if only I had an overpriced coffee mug with my address on it.”

Unlike most people I enjoy the generic hotels, the three hour layovers at the airport, or rationing peanuts to last the length of the in-flight movie. For the sake of full disclosure I also enjoy the smell of tar, so there may be something slightly off about me.

This is not to say I am always immune to the discomforts of travel.

Now a lot of comedians and humourists have tackled the lack of leg room, and while this well worn topic is one we can all relate to, who hasn’t lost feeling in their legs by the time to captain turns off the seatbelt sign? And who hasn’t had the passenger in front of us recline his seat, allowing our tray table to double as a corset?

But leg room is nothing compared to the threat of the Tenant Traveler.

You may not recognize this pesky brand of passenger from name alone, so let me relate a story that happened to me not to long ago.

I had requested an aisle seat and wound up at a window, proving once again that the request seat button is about as effective as the button pedestrian’s like to pretend turns the light to ‘Walk’ faster (in fact the crosswalk buttons were disconnected sometime in the 80s when computer algorithms took over traffic control, not that this effects you. I’m sure if you continue to pound on it three or four more times the light will change, honest.)

The trip though started comfortably enough, despite the comedic cliché urge I’ll admit the leg room wasn’t bad and there was a seat between me and the woman on the aisle.

I settled in, turning my iPod up to a level that’d block out my fellow travelers while not loud enough to reveal some of my guiltier of music pleasures to the U.S.A. Woman’s Volleyball team seated behind me. Not that I am ashamed of anything in my music collection, I just didn’t want them throwing a game to Chile because they are to busy laughing at the curly haired guy on the plane who was listening to Was (Not Was)’s Walk the Dinosaur. You’re welcome Team U.S.A.

It wasn’t till around the time the in-flight movie started up - presumably something starring Mark Wahlberg or Pierce Brosnan as I can’t recall the last flight I took without one of them making up the trip’s entertainment - it wasn’t until then that the harmless woman sharing the row with me began to reveal her true colours.

She began by pulling out a bright assortment of celebrity lined magazines, apparently the only way to get fair and balanced coverage on the latest star’s divorce is to cross-reference between five different tabloids. An innocent action in and of itself, everyone likes something to flip through while traveling, but it didn’t stop there.

She started pulling out several juice boxes, an assortment of snacks.

Uh-oh, I thought as her tray table began to resemble a Vegas buffet.

Then came the electronics, the 1990s Sony Walk-Man, the laptop. Several tapes (Wikipedia the words ‘Compact Cassette’ kids, sorry to get all old on you), then a large hardcover book followed, tucked away into the now bulging seat pocket in front of her.

She was one of them, a nester, a Tenant Traveler.

I began to think about how horrible it would be to have to get up to go to the bathroom, to have to navigate my way through the woman’s home entertainment system in what under could conditions barely amounted to enough space for me to shimmy sideways… while it’d just be a complete disaster.

Sure enough moments after crossing my mind the need hit me. She was in the midst of pulling out a small pillow and a blanket from the bag she must’ve bought second-hand off Felix the Cat and suddenly all I could think about was my need to get to the bathroom.

She had set her little three hour and forty minute home and it was smack between me and the aisle.

I tried fighting it.

On screen Marky Mark (sorry again kids) appeared to be pouting about something in the rain, he wasn’t helping anything.

Like the Cidiot I am I sat there out of my depths, though I had faced her type before I had never figured out whether to let them know I needed to go by, waiting fifteen more bladder pained minutes as they packed up their camping supplies, or whether to charge like a bull, letting Pringles and Us Weekly’s land where they may.

The thought crossed my mind to open the emergency exit door beside me and go the long way around… ah yes, the emergency exit row, now you know why I wasn’t complaining about leg room.

Finally I couldn’t take it any longer, I stood up (or as up as a plane will allow you) to let the woman know I needed to go by. With a look best described as disgust she acknowledged me, bundling as much stuff as she could into her arms she made her way to the aisle, staring at me, seeing if I could somehow turn to rubber and bend my way around the tray table between the aisle and me.

I shuffled my way towards salvation, a maneuver that lasted about two seconds before I tripped on the bag she had left on the floor, staggering I sent a package of two-bite brownies flying across the aisle.

Getting my bearings again I stood up to take in the fact the volleyball team had chosen to watch me lurch around over Pierce Brosnan windsurfing.

Regaining my composure I made it to the aisle as the woman opened the overhead compartment, suddenly a jacket dropped from above, covering me in darkness. Startled I let out a scream, whipping the jacket from across my face and tossing it at a businessman. A few giggles filled the cabin.

Red faced I walked towards the back of the plane, convinced every eye was following me on my way by.

When I returned to my seat she had neatly arranged all her worldly possessions, she looked up at me, back down at her stuff, and then sighed. Across the aisle out of the corner of my eye I think I saw the business man covering his face.

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