Son of Ghengis Khan and the battle of business class.

It's August, I'm flying to Orlando via some big airline. All the planes had been recently retro-fitted to add more seats to business class. More seats equals more misery. It's a basic law of the universe. My seat was near the back of the plane and as I squeezed my knees under my chin I thought to myself, "damn if I knew I was this flexible I never would have left the house this morning".

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I noticed a Korean guy (ok he could have been mongolian) sit down in front of me. He was wearing one of those poofy down jackets. Why do mongols always wear those? I mean it's August and we are heading to Or-Lan-Do. What the fuck is Genghis doing with a poofy down jacket?

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I immediately knew what was coming. I pushed my knees down as far as they would go just as Mr Mongol decided to recline his seat into my lap and the tray table into my adams apple.

I'm not a small man by any stretch of the imagination and I have long legs. My knees were locked in the complete and upright "fuck this reclining mongoloid asshole" position. It was not comfortable. Actually, it hurt like hell. My muscles were aching as the bastard continued pushing backward as hard as he could.

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I was determined to retain the few usable inches needed to drink my soda, read my skymall catalog and retain my dignity as a human being.Mr arsehore continued struggling to force his seat back. I had to hand it to this guy. I have never met anyone this stubborn before. We were in for a battle royale.

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The Stewardess noticed that Mr poofy was in some kind of physical distress. (I'm going to go ahead and say stewardess instead of flight attendant. Sue me..) This stewardess asked poofy if there was something the matter. This guy pointed at his seat emphatically and launched a phlegmy spittle flinging tirade that could peel paint.

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Of course it was all in mongoloidian and sadly she couldn't understand a word. The stewardess flung a bag of pretzels at the frothing man and told him to sit down and shut up. I made a mental note not to push the call button during this particular trip.

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The Stewardess was apparently having a bad day. She had a really smelly butt. I knew this because she stuck it in my face when she served drinks to the people in the next aisle. I think she farted on me and shit her pants. This made her day even worse. She was throwing a hissy fit. Perfect, I'm surrounded by crazy incontinent frothing fucks.

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It's about an hour into the flight and by this time, my calves and thighs are on fire from the strain. In his anger and stupidity my nemesis relaxed the pressure on the seat for a split second to again yell at the Stewardess. I was able to use this golden opprotunity to push the seat forward into a much less reclined position.

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This sent poofy mongol man into another cacophonous spray of froth and gutteral screechings. The stewardess was really pissed at this point, There was a wet spot on the back of her pants where she had soiled herself and she was getting a little foamy around the mouth.

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She threw a bag of peanuts and hit Genghis square in the nose. It knocked his glasses off and he let out a small yelp. He immediately shut up like a yappy dog after being smacked in the nose with a newspaper. Of course, not before trying to lunge his seat backwards in a desperate attempt to make me relinquish the death grip I had on my tiny bit of the friendly skies.
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The plane finally landed. I won. The victory felt hollow, however, as I hobbled painfully through the aisle of the 737. I noticed that the seat back was indented from the prolonged struggle. Collateral damage I guess. Mongol man shot me a venomous enraged look like I had violated his dead ancestors with a shovel handle. I smiled and waved at him. I really wanted to beat his ass, throw him out onto the tarmac and run over him repeatedly wih a luggage trolly, but alas, I had to be satisfied with winning the battle royale .


To be continued: