Miserable flight to Los Angeles yesterday. The guy in front of me felt it was perfectly OK to travel with his head in my lap the whole way. Go figure. His seat reclined so far back that my head was less than a foot from his head. I politely asked him if he could move his seat up a bit, but he just looked at me and didn't move an inch. So I kneed him and bumped the back of his seat for 5 solid hours.
Now, guys, I love y’all, but it does seem to be the menfolk who feel it’s their God-given right to recline as far as possible – even in the cheap-seats of coach – for air travel. A steerage seat in economy class ain’t your personal Barcolounger, Bub. Be aware of the poor schlub stuck behind your reclining ass before you tilt back 90 degrees. I’m guessin’ that 3-4 inches wouldn’t make much difference to your snoozing’ comfort, but it makes all the difference in the world to the person behind you trying to get a little work done on a laptop.
I felt like tapping Mr. Recline-O on the top of the head and asking if he’d spell-check my work. He was closer to it than I was. “Hey, buddy, does that sentence look right to you? Oh, and by the way. You’re going a little thin on top, and you have two cavities on the lower right.”
And the movie? The Astronaut Farmer. No. Seriously.
Here endeth the daily travel bitch session.