12 hours is a long time to be stuck in a middle seat. Between two strangers. Especially when aisle guy, Ryan, has no trouble sleeping. Darn him and his checkered shirt. If only he knew how I longed to go to toilet while he snored away in his seat. That bugged me too. He was at least six feet tall and seemed perfectly comfortable snoozing away for the best part of six hours. Meanwhile all five feet of me was wriggling and squirming and trying to get comfy and desperately trying to sleep. For what? A sum total of 45 mins shut-eye! It’s not fair! I had comfy socks, and a warm hoodie, ear plugs, neck pillow – I had all the gear, and still no sleep.
As far as seat mates go, Ryan and Ross were pretty good. Ryan was from Melbourne, judging from his hands I think he works with cars, and was flying to Virginia to visit his girlfriend and her parents.
I thought I had was a sure thing for 'best trip planned award' but my other seat mate, Ross from Wellington took out that one. He was going to Aruba and a bunch of other places I recognised as lines from the song Kokomo to buy a fire-sale yacht. He had the cash all ready to go and was basically going to spend a few weeks kicking tyres (or whatever the nautical equivalent is) at Marinas hoping to scoop a bargain. Ross was cool, he owns and runs an antique store slash second hand book shop in New Zealand – now doesn’t that sound like a man with his priorities all in the right order?
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