The Battle.

I find it a little humorous that I’m writing my blog entry on a Word document because I’m 400,000 feet in midair with no sign of Wi-Fi. This isn’t a sign of eagerness to document my every move abroad, this is a sign of desperation… desperation to find some sort of salvation from the Indian lady snoozing next to me. (I’m panicking at the thought of her suddenly opening her eyes and targeting “Indian lady” on my illuminated computer screen to instantly realize that I’m talking shit).

After passing 40-something rows of seats, I finally find seat number 47 D. Yes! I get the isle! As I am about to put my carry-on over my head, this short little Indian mother says, “I sit” and waits impatiently for me to move. I move… out of her way, then she gives me a little look of discomfort after realizing that I was the lucky owner of the isle seat and she was not. But before I get a chance to put my belongings in the overhead compartment, she lifts her carry-on, which is big enough to be a check-in suitcase, and jams it in the compartment, then selfishly takes her seat. All the while I’m glaring at the compartment because I am now forced to put my shit by my feet for the next 12 hours of my life. Hmm.. maybe I am mistaking her broken English for rudeness? Or… maybe I’m not

She smells like moth balls and sits with her dirty little toes pointing in my direction. Her cracked heels catch my attention for a good 2 minutes before I realize that I have to put my seatbelt on. She has the nerve to tell me that there is no foot room for her on my side of the seat and points to the flight attendant to get him to help me put my belongings overhead. Ask me why I complied? I really don’t know. Obviously, there is no room because her selfish suitcase took over the entire plane, so my Marc by Marc Jacobs tote took the backseat in a corner by the 20-something section numbers along with a camping bag and an old guitar. Great. I was mad at myself for listening to her so I go to get it back and place it where it had been before, safe and uncomfortable near MY feet. She glowered with her tween daughter, but I didn’t care.

As we are about to take off, the stewardess comes by and asks her to shut off her iPod. She does, but as soon as the stewardess leaves, she turns it back on to her soundtrack of the latest Bollywood movie. Reminds me of Tanya… HAHA but that was different because Tanya was never asked to turn off her phone in the first place. Yeah, UA pretty much sucks for flights up to Sacramento. Anyway, talk about r.u.d.e!

This on going battle doesn’t stop yet. Before Nights in Rodanthe begins, the airplane shut off the lights for people to sleep. I, however, already took a nap during take off so I was wide awake and ready to read with my overhead light. She gets frustrated and tries to turn off my light but doesn’t know how. Ha-ha. It’s been almost 3 hours and my lights are still on, except I don’t think I win this round because she still managed to fall asleep, take my arm rest, and snore to a point where I couldn't read my book anymore. That explains why I'm writing. I suck at battles.

And this begins my entry into Europe. Luckily, the stewardess gave me a glass of wine. First toast silently goes to Maria, for englightening me with the good news of ordering beverages on international flights. Grazie!