Row 43

The next time you book a flight and you learn the aircraft is a Boeing 777, avoid sitting in  row 43. Do what you have to do. Walk if you have to. But don't allow yourself to be assigned a seat in row 43.

We were originally assigned seats, on the Washington to LA leg of our journey,  in row 7 or thereabouts, but when we arrived at the Portland airport we learned our flight from Portland to Washington-Dulles would be delayed due to or by "ATC," which I assume means air traffic control. That would mean missing our Washington to Los Angeles flight, so the lady at check-in, who was, by the way, a trainee, or perhaps a custodian assigned to fill in for the regular, highly-trained check-in lady,  put us on a later flight to LA. We thought a crisis had been averted, until Ken double-checked our luggage claim tickets and discovered our bags were being sent on one flight while our bodies were being sent on another. Not good.

Back to check-in we went, only to be told that our original Portland to Washington flight would no longer be delayed, so we could fly on it after all. Yea!, or so we thought.

As I said earlier, our original seat assignments on the flight to LA were in row 7. I remember thinking how these would surely be pleasant seats. I'd be able to read or knit or maybe even combat DVT by doing regular leg exercises.

I bet Ken looked at our reassigned boarding passes while still in Portland and saw the handwriting on the wall. But he has learned over the years that it's best to let me discover impending doom on my own. I didn't look at them, therefore, because I like to be an optimist and I can't see any sense in worrying ahead of time. I can do a dandy job of worrying when the time comes.

Our seats, 43 D and 43 E, were in the last row on the freakin' plane. And row 43 isn't a REAL row. It's a little leftover space at the back of the plane which the design engineers couldn't decide what to do with. They hate to waste aircraft space, and they like to make sure our airlines make as much money as possible, so they decided that this leftover space, not fit for luggage storage, would be dandy for human storage. 

To  my left sat a nice gentleman with his own set of problems: his secretary had booked him on a flight from Washington to LA on the 20th, sure, but she'd booked it for APRIL 20, not March 20. He wondered why the check-in clerk had said, "My, we're here early, aren't we?" when he arrived  to check in. He didn't realize he'd arrived a month early, so the powers that be had to scramble to find him a seat on the March 20 flight. Clearly he, too, had been given one of the left-over, assign only when all-else fails, seats.

To my right sat Ken. To his right sat a long-legged gentleman who looked to be at least seven feet tall. He kept his knees in the aisle for the entire flight.

We were four fellow-sufferers. It's funny how common suffering makes people bond in an instant.

We were packed in so tightly that the man to my left whispered, at one point, "Perhaps if we breathed in unison, that would help."

At one point I leaned down to try to rearrange my carry-on and laptop, stored under the seat ahead of me, so I could have the teensiest smidgen of legroom and, perhaps, thwart DVT. As I leaned forward, the guy in the seat ahead of me decided to tip back his seat. For a few terrifying seconds I was pinned in a folded-forward position.

Then there were the angry lions in the cage behind us. At least I thought they were angry lions because they roared incessantly. About 30 minutes into the flight I realized the roaring was actually the toilets being flushed. Four toilets abutted the wall behind us.

Because the seat ahead of me was practically pressing against my nose, my tri-focal lenses couldn't focus on anything: the little screen tracking our flight was a blur, the knitting needles and yarn were a blur, even the crossword puzzle in the back on the airline's magazine was a blur.

Five and a half LONG hours. And when the flight attendant handed me a napkin for my drink, do you know what I found printed on the back of it? "United Airlines. The most legroom of any airline." Ken and I had a good chuckle over that one.

But here are a couple of photos taken from our hotel room this morning:

Well, maybe not. Maybe later. Blogger doesn't seem to want to upload any photos for me at the moment.