Off to a flying start

It seems hack-ish to begin a blog with a airplane story. After all, airplane observations are second only to gender differences in the lame humour category. Alas, when I have a public awkgasm witnessed by forty-three percent of the economy class, I would be remiss to leave it unreported.

There is this feeling you get around the six hour mark of a lengthy flight. Right after the second round of individually portioned cheese and crackers, and moments before people begin to draw their blinds en mass affording the relative privacy of darkness. It is at this moment you decide that jeans were perhaps not the greatest choice for extended periods of sitting. You shift uncontrollably from one buttock to the other, contorting one's own body within the limits of the seeming prison created between the armrests. And in this time of discomfort you will come to realise that a solution is within immediate grasp. A button! Not just any button, a button with the mystical powers to provide just a hint of pleasure to even most poorly attired travelers. The jeans button. 

Just a small twist, and pop! Relief. Sweet, sweet relief. With this, you sink deeper into your chair and fall into a brief and constantly disturbed slumber. 

Free beer? Yes. Free water? Please. Orange juice with your meal? Don't mind if I do. Bladder capacity? Full. Not to worry, there's a simple solution only metres away. You stand, and virtually straddling (hover-straddling?) the gentleman and baby in the aisle seat you move past them with drunk-ninja-like precision. The end to your suffering is within easy stumble. You look down towards your feet, avoiding eye contact with those facing you lest they know what shameful acts you are about to commit in the confined room with the Magical Sucking Toilet Bowl. Something is not right; that freedom which you once craved feels curiously wrong in an upright position. Your eyes travel towards your crotch... Your exposed crotch! 

You freeze mid-step, panicked. How did this happen? Oh yes, you recall, I released the button. But why is the zip somewhere around the top of my thighs? There you are. This is your predicament. Flustered, embarrassed, and positively awkgasming, seconds feel like only a serving suggestion. Have they always been this long? All eyes are on you and your act of indecent exposure. It's your move big guy, what are you going to do? Here there are two options: Attempt a quick button and zip up in the middle of the aisle, risking further attention from previously unengaged passengers, or continue striding towards the toilet in the hope that people are more interested in your adorable and attractive face to even notice what's going on in your normally panted region. How long can you stand there, groin at eye-level, making a decision? Zip! Button! Done! Run!

It is as you enter the toilet and pull the lock shut that another thought begins to dawn on you: A man arises from his seat, fully unbuttoned and unzipped and heads towards the bathroom. What would you think he was doing in his seat?

In the eyes of the economy class you are the guy who pleasured himself, straddled a father and baby, and exposed himself to a plane full of upstanding citizens. If every choice in your life has led you to this moment, you should probably begin to leave your fate in the hands of a Magic 8 Ball. 

Life: You're doing it wrong.

You can't stay in the toilet forever, but you sure can try. It's not too bad in there. The Magical Sucking Toilet would never judge you. Imagine what that thing has seen.