Travelling to a destination via aircraft is never the treat it once was decades ago. The seats are small and cramped and you inevitably sit next to the most sorry excuse for a human being imaginable. But alas, there is always hope, because out of the two-hundred-or-so passengers on this flight, there is always one hot chick, and she may end up sitting next to you.
But she doesn’t, because your life sucks and there is no way the Lord feels you deserve to be rewarded like that… especially not after the way you stared inappropriately at that girl working the Orange Julius stand at the mall. “She looked 18” is not going to help you when you’re burning in hell.
When flying, everyone wants to sit next to the hot chick. Ugly people want to sit next to the hot chick. Geeks want to sit next to the hot chick. Muscle-bound gym rats want to sit next to the hot chick. Old people want to sit next to the hot chick. Hell, even hot chicks want to sit next to other hot chicks. Somehow, their beauty is going to make your life better for the next three hours.
It really is the most perfect situation. A hot chick sits next to you. You have an entire flight to work your magic and God-willing, score a phone number. It’s made especially perfect because she can’t leave. You can bomb as often as you want and you’ll get a near infinite amount of opportunities to redeem yourself! You could even be a little creepy and eventually over the course of the flight, she’ll come to realize that you are actually a really sweet, normal guy, and that you probably don’t have people chained up in your basement.
I have been on hundreds of flights throughout my lifetime and there have only been TWO times where I was fortunate enough to sit next to the hot chick. One time, I sparked up a conversation with this cute little brunette next to me. She was smiling and laughing and things were going great. Then she casually mentioned her father, sitting in the next row up, and how the two were touring colleges in the area.
The second time I sat next to a hot chick went a little something like this. The flight was filling up fast and there was one seat in between me and the Asian dude with the weird headphones. Suddenly, a hot chick entered the plane and everyone stopped talking while they gazed upon her beauty. It was like the scene from a movie. (The kind of movie with very little plot, horrid acting, but lots of boning.) Everyone collectively held their breath as they hoped and prayed that this woman would sit next to them. She got closer and closer to our row with the empty seat. She stopped, put her bags in the overhead compartment, and sat down next to me and Mr. Asian Guy. The guy with the funny headphones and I exchanged a glance that said “Game on.”
Somehow, despite my years of awkwardness around women, I was able to be the first to strike up a conversation with the hot chick. I had some competition for her attention sitting next to me so I went for the jugular with my pick up line.
“Hey, how’s it goin’?” I said, as suave as I possibly could.
The words she said next will forever touch my heart.
“I’m hungover as fuck and just want to get this flight over with.”
Okay icy bitch. Your wish for my silence has been granted. GAME OVER.
My most recent flight began like many others. I arrived at the gate early and kindly requested a seat change to an exit row. I was granted this seat change, albeit after a 25-minute “I have to log on to my computer first” session.
Once my new boarding pass was printed, I took a seat at the gate and took inventory of my fellow passengers:
- Single mother with child(ren)
- Old couple who talk loudly to each other
- Gay dude who wants to MAKE SURE that you know he is gay
- Soldier in military fatigues
- Possible terrorist
- Fat man who probably sells used cars on his front lawn
The cast of characters was all there. We just needed our token hot chick. Within a few minutes of my inventory, she came strolling to the gate.
Now, I should mention at this point that I do have a girlfriend. I am in a loving relationship with her AND I HOPE TO STAY THAT WAY, even after she reads this. There is something that everyone needs to realize. For me, sitting next to the hot chick in my current “spoken for” status isn’t about hitting on her or scoring some digits. It’s about a pleasant flight. You ARE going to sit next to one of these people waiting at the gate, so why not it be the hot chick? Do you really want me sitting next to the possible terrorist, Sarah? DO YOU?
So hot chick sits down and everyone at the gate eyes her up, even Mr. “You Guys Can See I’m Gay, Right?”. We eventually board our plane and everyone waits in anticipation. The plane fills up to nearly-full. I glance around to see where little miss hot chick sat down. Seat 8A. I am in seat 13B. Drat. Not this time, I guess.
The last passenger comes aboard. The airplane door shuts and we begin our taxi down the runway. I glanced up to 8A and realize there is an empty seat next to her. Too bad for all of us on this plane, no one gets to sit next to hot chick.
Game over for all of us… even you, possible terrorist.
As I shrug off this unfortunate turn of events, I grabbed my book and began reading. (Yes, I can read. Most of the time, I choose not to.) I used my boarding passes as a bookmark. PassES because I changed my seat, remember? It was here that I wondered which seat was originally mine. I glanced down at the old ticket.
That could have been me sitting next to the hot chick, fellow passengers of Flight 4620! But I opted to be the one who must be able and willing to assist the crew during an evacuation of the aircraft. I chose saving your life over sitting next to the hot chick.
I also wanted more leg room.