Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.
We are off and the disparity of our travel begins. Mr. Golden Underwear will be traveling 1st Class in a fully flat sleeper seat attributing his need to be in First Class to his clotting disorder rather than admitting his version of the mile-high club is to be swaddled in airplane blankets. Meanwhile, I’ll be traveling in veal class where I expect to lose circulation in my right leg somewhere near crossing the Greenwich Time Zone. Our trip preparation also reflects this class difference. While I packed us as if we we were actually going to the New World with steamer trunks not forgetting to pack provisions and essentials that might allow us to start a new life abroad, Scott packed his computer. While I did about 7452 things today multitasking since 6 am finishing work, ensuring that lists for Quake’s and our home care are done, and ensuring that I hadn’t inadvertently packed a neighbor’s child in our sizable luggage, Mr. Golden Underwear picked up sandwiches for our inflight dinner and then readied himself for his fully extended bed in the sky by taking a nap, while I stressed and toiled. Mr. Golden Undies then reflected on how his sandwich was unnecessary, since Flight attendants would be feeding him grapes by hand along with dinner in his fare class level. He took it anyway feeling like he could provide entertainment for his fellow 1st class travelers prior to landing by throwing the sandwich into veal class to watch us fight for it like gladiators in the Holy Roman Empire. Well, we are boarding soon. Mr. Golden Underwear has been trying to push me across the velvet ropes into my respective lesser boarding group. He’s assured me that he will turn me into the Air Marshall’s, if I attempt to visit him in his luxury bubble in 1st or dare to use their royal bidet. Will look forward to our 1st post from Paris. Bye from now from my seat inside the overhead bin!
I interrupt this Captain’s log for a public service announcement. While about 4 hours into flight, as I Netflixed without the chill, I looked up and saw an Asian man coming from the bathroom start to collapse, as his wife held him. I asked if they needed help & she said yes, so I jumped out of my chair looking for the call button. When I couldn’t find it, I ran up the aisles screaming for help without seeing a flight attendant. Finally, a woman jumped up and called on the phone, as they called for a dr. When I returned to my seat, the guy was totally unresponsive with his eyes not normal. Three doctors and 4 stewardesses worked on him with lights, blood pressure, and oxygen. He was out cold for at least 10 minutes. They dribbled orange juice into his mouth just as I thought we’d land in Newfoundland (the Paris of Greenland?). He was definitely hypoglycemic and came around after a 1/2 hour. So, just so everyone knows, on newer plans, the call button might be in the individual tv screens or just pick up a phone by the flight attendant chair. Of course, after it was all over about 30-45 minutes later, I walked to 1st class in case Mr. Golden Underwear heard my screams and was worried only to find him totally unresponsive sleeping blissfully away after his meal and hot towel.
Rubber Chicken 