Thank God for turbulence.

En Route to our honeymoon in Honolulu, a group of tourists held hostage one-half of the airplane. I say “hostage,” only because they continuously blocked the aisle, touching base with one another, walking from pal to pal to child, to cousin, sharing laughter in a tongue I did not recognize (well, any language outside of English; Pig Latin; enough Spanish to get into trouble; and choice Tagalog phrases, is baffling to me).

When the beverage cart attempted to make its way towards me and my bride to be, it was a bottle neck, sans any bottles for me to squelch the dry irritation in the far reaches of my throat and soul. There’s something about having a stream of wandering asses, hovering at eye level, pass by non-stop without any layovers in their own seat. It’s one thing to bump elbows in a crowded arena, but to have this many restless passengers aboard a 6-hour flight, pointing their khaki clad anus’ in my direction while I am helplessly strapped in, that makes breathing a bit tougher at high altitudes.

A nervous doodle on the seat pocket vomit bag–born out of one rocky, annoying flight to Hawaii.
A nervous doodle on the seat pocket vomit bag–born out of one rocky, annoying flight to Hawaii.

They didn’t speak English. This isn’t a judgment, just a fact. My Filipino wife has trouble with the language too, so I’m not being prejudice. But everyone should be able to read hand gestures. The flight attendant would wave her silent hands in frustration, pleading with them to sit, go back, move aside–all too often towards a fruitless end.

Finally, praise the great Universe, turbulence loomed ahead. The Captain’s call to sit down and buckle up, came through loud and clear as a bevy of complimentry Mia Tia’s lifted off one attendant’s tray and (unfortunately) missed landing near my mouth by just one row. She sat squat on the floor, holding the toppled cups, while the large group of gabbing wanderers finally ran for their assigned seats. One man in the party lost an entire boiling Cup of Noodles in his seat during this first major bump in the flight, and I shamefully smiled with glee in a dark recess of my soul.

Peace came at last while the pressure, windspeed, rain, whatever makes a plane go crazy in the sky, pummeled our hull. No one got up again. Somehow, every anxious urethra crimped shut. I suppose if one could lose their noodles in a swift nose dive and still live to laugh about it, then surely a hot pocket of piss could be had without too much embarrassment. Prayers do get answered sometimes.

As the plane continued to ride this etherial bull the rest of the way to Honolulu, not a single, squawking, fidgety, passenger passed my way again. Just a lone, brave attendant, making sure we were all nicely bound by our safety belts, made her rounds as the plane continued to rock, jerk and roll me into a blissful sleep the rest of the way to paradise.