I knew the flight was doomed when I got the middle seat between a man actively coughing up a lung and a woman who, within two minutes of takeoff, removed her shoes and socks. The scent hit me like an air marshal tackling an unruly passenger.
I reached for my air vent—my last line of defense—but it was broken. Great. I turned to the in-flight entertainment, only to find that my screen was stuck on a frozen frame of an old Adam Sandler movie. No WiFi, no escape.
Just as I was accepting my fate, the baby two rows ahead let out a scream so powerful I swear I saw the cabin lights flicker. The guy to my right started clipping his fingernails (?!), and to my left, my seatmate had fallen asleep with her head fully on my shoulder, mouth open, breathing directly into my soul.
Then came the turbulence. Bad turbulence. The kind that makes the flight attendants sit down and buckle up. The kind that turns the bathroom line into an Olympic balance beam event. The kind where you start whispering apologies for all the bad things you’ve ever done.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the seatbelt sign turned off, and the woman in front of me fully reclined into my lap. Her hair touched my tray table. My knees were officially in another dimension.
The flight lasted four hours, but I swear I came out aging in dog years. When we landed, I made a solemn vow: I will never book basic economy again.
Read more travel horror stories… or submit your own!
Turbulent Times 