After days of researching the aircraft online, I eventually selected Seat 41 G, situated towards the middle of the cabin. The Thai Airways Airbus a330 had only been a third booked when I bought the ticket and Seat 41 G was now occupied, denoted by an orange symbol on the seating plan, amid a barren plain of emptiness.
I implored the flight to be as sparsely populated come the day of travel.
Even though I had only paid for one space, I still expected, nay demanded, to be afforded the use of all four seats in my row. Manipulating the entirety of my frame into a horizontal position was imperative if I was to achieve my goal of absolute unconsciousness for the duration of the journey. Should anyone dare have the gumption to interfere with this arrangement they could expect to bear witness to the combined wrath of 10 bottles of beer Chang, a brace of Xanax, and a fierce phobia of flying. Indeed, anyone foolish enough to hamper my plans would be slept, dribbled and possible urinated on.
Suvarnabhumi airport loomed into view. I slurred my farewells and staggered to the check-in desk. Informing the homosexual scrutinizing my passport that I was a nervous flyer, I continued to inquire into the possibility of an upgrade. No, sir, he lisped. The flight is fully booked. Although I had only known this gentleman for less than 10 seconds, he quickly became the most deplorable individual to ever walk the planet.
Arriving at Seat 41 G on cruise control triggered by the morning's quota of alcohol and prescription medication, I noted that 41 F was occupied by a gentleman of African descent. I was about to apologise in advance for the great inconvenience he would be subjected to for the next 12 hours when my phone rang. It was my wife. Are you on the plane? She asked. Not so many moons ago I'd had a habit of foregoing the flying process in favour of staying in the pub instead. Yes, I said, and with a great amount of effort stowing my small case in the luggage cache. How are you feeling? She pressed, fully aware of my aversion of all things aviation. In fairly fine fettle, I answered - although this was probably heard as fgwefyggqgfwgfqfhggfhgfqhgfjfghjfgbigblackbloke.
The plane taxied to the runway, fired its engines, took off, and cruising altitude was reached.
The stewardesses began to appear, I beckoned a bloody mary to comer hither.
Something quite, quite beautiful then befell the situation. The flight attendant of bloody mary fetching fame presented me with my beverage and went on to inform that there were a pair of vacant seats by the exit, and would I like to pass out in them.
Yes, yes, yes, and yes.
Relocating, I reclined my seat to the hilt, sipped my drink, and closed my eyes.
The last words I heard before sinking into slumber came from the pilot over the address system...
"Please don't worry," he said, "we are trying to rectify the issue."
Seat 41 G...in there somewhere