He was on a flight from New York to Moscow, connecting onward to New Delhi. Aeroflot. It wasn’t the smartest choice. Aeroflot had a reputation of being a wing and a prayer; quite literally as he noted. He wasn’t perturbed though. It fit the two criteria he basis his decisions – cheapest ticket and not more than 3 hours of layover.
He had flown enough to know that the seat width and leg space of any airline depend largely on the average male proportions. That’s why he enjoyed flying in the US. He fit. Barely, but good enough.
This time was different. It was a Russian airline. Some of those guys are tall too, he thought. He was never so wrong. From the moment he boarded, he felt a kind of discomfort that can only be experienced not explained! He enquired with the air-hostess whether he could change his seat. Russians aren’t too known for their hospitality. He understood why. She gave him a look that vaguely translates to ‘should’ve thought before getting pregnant!’
He looked around for help. There was this girl, sitting in the ‘emergency window’ seat, looking at him in amusement and pity. They looked at each other; he shrugged his shoulders; she smirked. That was his opening. He enquired if she’d be kind enough to switch seats. She agreed. Since no good deed goes unpunished, she had to now endure talking to him for the rest of the flight. She was just going to figure out what all his friends already knew. He could talk shit. For hours. It was going to be a long flight, for her!
(more on their conversation in the next blog post)