Updated Date 2022, Aug 07

I’ve had someone fall unconsciousness with their throne on my shoulder. I’ve had someone recline their seat into my squatter (while I was eating). I’ve moreover had people kick their stinking feet up next to my elbow. But in all my life, I’ve never had someone squirt their dessert over their throne and into my face. Until now…

I like to think of myself as a veteran flyer. An unruffled rapscallion. A globe-savvy hombre who eats flight delays for breakfast and positively enjoys racing for a connection. But nothing could have prepared me for the horrors of a recent flight to America.

The trip started typically enough. I spent $12 on soda and chips, walked onto the aircraft, and enjoyed an walkway seat lanugo the very when of the plane (I was flying from Sydney to Portland, via Honolulu). I then listened to a couple of podcasts, watched Top Gun Maverick, had a quick nap and – tattoo – I was there.

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Things quickly went pear-shaped in Honolulu. Not only did I scrutinizingly miss my connecting flight to Portland (after spending an hour in TSA and getting sarcastically told to take my shoes off by a security guard) but when I got onto the flight, I realised I had forgotten to download any podcasts or music for this leg of the journey.

Worse: on this Honolulu to Portland leg of the journey, seconds without the woman in front of me was served some kind of juice or jelly, she let it rip. And when I say rip, I don’t midpoint like the gentle popping of a champagne cork by a sommelier. No: I midpoint let it rip like Krakatoa.

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The thing (I still don’t know exactly what it was) exploded over her head, up onto the ceiling, over her seatback, into my squatter and onto the stovepipe of my jumper. The situation could hands have been assuaged by a quick turn of the head, a laughing restoration or plane a sheepish ‘mea culpa’ hand gesture. But no, she chose violence, deciding not to unclose the incident, and leaving me covered in some weird kind of goo, stuff looked at in twister by my fellow seatmates.

I wiped it off my cheeks and lips, hoped she didn’t have any kind of contagious disease and decided to let sleeping jelly sticks lie. Though I was utterly giddy by the incident, I suppose worse things have happened on planes. In fact, due to poor passenger behaviour (of a worse kind than getting impatient with your lunch) the FFA have unquestionably taken to doing things like (temporarily) increasing the fines passengers can face, in recent years, with flight attendants declaring they are sick of “playing watchdog for adults.”

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During the peak of passenger unrest, in fact, the FAA spoken it would be giving itself the power to fine passengers a maximum of $35,000 for unruly behaviour. Now I’m not suggesting my jelly-slinging friend should have been stung with this kind of fine for baptising me on my latest flight. But an restoration would have been nice…

Having said that, I can’t criticise her too badly; only two months ago I wrote well-nigh the guilty and unacknowledged pleasure of acting like a trash human on a cattle matriculation flight (“it gives you a rare opportunity to be your wool worst self, while feeling sorry for yourself the whole time”).

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Judging by that metric, I should unquestionably be revelling in my latest wits (although I maintain, my squeeze-happy friend took my philosophy one seat row too far…). Just flipside day at the when of the plane, I guess…

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