I despise flying. Its one of those things that you are thankful for enabling a smaller world but then wish that teleportation couldn’t come soon enough. Not that you cannot have a pleasant experience on a flight, just that its so exorbitantly priced that its out of reach of mere mortals like me. Business and First class is for the caviar eating folks. The ones who probably have a gold finish faucets in homes. Or for those seasoned travelers who collect miles in air like I do on a treadmill. I am neither. I am the proverbial cattle class. I just take my bovine self and plant my rump on a seat and then regurgitate for 14 f***in hours.

Nowhere is societal lines more defined than in a plane cabin. You think Louisiana was segregated during plantation times. Try the current day airplanes. They take a perverse glee in herding you through the business class so that you can see for yourself the pleasures that could’ve been yours had you paid 10 times the price of your feeble ticket. But you couldn’t could you? So now don’t stare at the pretty lady enjoying her flute of champagne in dark sunglasses and walk to your seat. Then ask the attendant for ibuprofen, some whisky and hope that somehow you’ll survive the ride.

Sometimes I trade the luxury of a quiet peaceful journey for some extra legroom. I sit in the infant row. I have come to realize there are two kinds of infants on a plane. The bad kind and…well the even worse kind. Do not be fooled by the smiling cherub faces. Upon take-off, those angels are devil incarnate. All high pitched squealing, snot and saliva colluding on skin, snatching your book or laptop or what have you for their amusement. The mother will look apologetically and you will smile ruefully. The only question in your mind is, was I like this as a baby. I am going to ask my mom when I land.

The only good thing to come out of this trade is that you can furtively pass gas at those opportune times when the baby soils the diapers, which are quite often. You mix your noxious fumes to theirs and they get all the blame. Ha Ha. I do not have the slightest bit of shame in saying this. You really don’t want to fart on a plane even if its the silent kind. People will know. There’s nowhere for your fumes to go in that decompressed cabin but up the nostrils. The odorific tendrils creeping up along the nasal passage and binding themselves to the cilia of neurons. And voila. The brain registers the smell and expressions change. I am not a horrible person for doing this though. After all, the babies can survive the condemnation. Its expected of them. I *even* lend them a smile and a piece of chocolate.

A token offering for the pungent services.