Awkward one hour and 47 minutes

I'm sitting on the plane to NY, reading a magazine. It's the free magazine stuffed into the front pocket of my seat, mostly detailing all these exotic places and vacations I'll never go on-- unless my advisor decides to send me to a conference or I make enough money to fuck grad school and go on vacation. Neither of which are going to happen anytime soon. The seat next to me is empty. 'Perfect!' I think. Now I can look in both directions without feeling awkward and paranoid about staring in my neighbor's direction; I wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong impression.

I wriggle around in my oversized sweatshirt, snuggling into the seat, wearing my Knicks cap with my hair bundled under. 'Aaahhh, Bermuda,' I mentally sigh, flipping the sunkissed pages of the travel zine.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. 'Excuse me SIR?' says a loud voice. I look up into the staring faces of a late-twenties redhead and the blonde middle-aged flight attendant standing next to her. The redhead opens her eyes wide and practically shrieks, "I MEAN, M'AM! Can I, uh, sit next to you?" The flight attendant giggles and says, "Well now it'll be an awkward one hour and forty seven minutes!" We all laugh uncomfortably as I manever a half turn in my seat so that the redhead can scoot into her seat, all the while while the flight continues to giggle, and the redhead continues to apologize. The people in the plane smirk at me and I find myself wondering if I really do look like a boy in my Knicks hat and sweatshirt.

One hour and forty seven minutes. I close my eyes almost immediately after the apologizing has ceased and fall asleep. As the plane touches down, I open my eyes and I'm in NY. We taxi in silence when my neighbor turns me to me and says, "By the way, I think you're very beautiful." I laugh in her face at this ridiculous remark and assure her she doesn't need to make any amends to me. I mean, I think it's hilarious, and even kind of cool. We start talking and tells me she's a salesperson for yadda yadda yadda and she has been so polite for the past week that it's hard for her draw the line anymore between what's offensive and what's not that big a deal. I tell her I get it; it's hard sometimes to leave the work persona at home. I leave the plane, wishing I had talked her before. I was never a big talker on planes, but I think I'm more open to it. Not a fascinating story, but I thought it was amusing and telling.