The Inner Monologue Of A Guy In The Middle Seat

Email this to a friend


The Inner Monologue Of A Guy In The Middle Seat

Oh, seat 6E. Awesome. I love being in the middle. Maybe no one will be next to me and I can spread my wings.

*Boards plane*

Please have no one next to me, please have no one next to me, please have no one next to me.

Whoa, get a load of this chick in the Nike Pro Combat leggings.

Please be next to me, please be next to me, please be next to me.

Maybe she’s just putting her bag above the row in front of me so she can get it easier when we get off the plane. God, who knew my future wife would be so smart? I can’t wait to tell our kids we met on a flight to–

Oh, nope, nevermind, window seat, row 5. Back to the drawing board.

Maybe if I scoot over one seat, the person in 6F won’t realize I’m snaking their seat. I bet I’m sitting with a really nice couple who would rather sit next to each other than rudely ask me to get up and sit between them. That has to be it.

Oh, man. This older woman walking down the aisle would be best case scenario. She’s like 4’11” and will probably sleep the entire flight. I should just hail her down and tell her to post up next to me.

Yahtzee, we’re fillin’ in our row. I’m going to butter her up and ask how her day’s going.

Alright, yeah, so she can’t hear anything I’m saying. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Man, this flight is getting full. Am I going to be so lucky that the other person in our row doesn’t show up? Am I the chosen one who gets to fall asleep in the window seat with no one next to me?

*Looks up to an overweight man pointing at the seat I’m sitting in*

No, no, no, no, no. Are you fucking kidding me?

*Exits the row to let him in, makes way to the middle seat*

Fuck, this dude already took up all the armrest room. Fine, if he wants to play this game, we’ll play this game. The second he moves his arm, I’m going in and claiming my territory.

Does this dude have the App Store on his home row? Is he serious? I should tell an air marshall because this guy’s clearly got a screw loose.

Alright, I’m going headphones in. I don’t care what the stewardess has to say about it. The last thing I need is someone telling me how to buckle a damn seatbelt.

Is this guy seriously just scrolling the pages of his homescreen looking at all his apps? I really need to tell someone about this.

Alright, the old woman next to me is already asleep. We’re in business.

My shoulders hurt from tensing up this entire time because I can’t utilize this armrest. Doesn’t this dude realize he can lean completely against the window of the plane and not take up the coveted space that someone in the middle seat deserves?

Okay, okay, we’re taking off. Be calm. Be cool. Shut your eyes. Relax.

How long until they come by with drinks? I was planning on going either ginger ale or bloody mary mix but desperate times call for desperate measures.

How can this guy seriously sit here awake with the shade shut on this window? If I’m riding bitch then I at least deserve a view.

I should check this woman’s pulse.

God, it’s hot in here. I need to turn on the air. Of course Window Seat Dude has it pointed at him. Sorry, bro, you and I both know this mine.

Ahhh, air. That’s the stuff dreams are made of. It’s like angels blowing on my sweaty forehead. Now if I could just get a drink.

*Sits up peering over the next row*

Yes yes yes, drink cart in sight. I’m going in on some scotch-rocks right now.

“Scotch-rocks, please.”

I said, “Scotch-rocks, please.”

“You don’t have scotch? You don’t have any alcohol? Are you kidding me? Fine. Fuck. Ginger ale, please.

Man, I should get balls deep in The Thomas Crown Affair right now but my laptop is in the overhead compartment.

*Stares at elderly woman trying to find any movement signaling life*

Alright, looks like I’m not watching a movie right now because I don’t want to be an accessory to this woman’s death.

*Fat dude taps shoulder; “Mind if I get out to use the bathroom?”*

Oh, awesome, yeah. This is all super convenient. I get to hurry a potentially dead woman out of the aisle so this lard can devastate the bathroom of this air-sealed missile. Perfect.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Phew, she’s alive.

Okay, do I wait in the aisle for this guy to come back so we don’t have to do the awkward “I didn’t see you coming back” thing or do I sit there and stake out his exit from the bathroom? Fuck it. Standing.

*Lets dude back in*

Should be smooth sailing for the rest of the flight. The woman next to me is clearly heavily medicated and this dude shouldn’t move anymore considering everyone in the world knows you’re not allowed to go to the bathroom more than once on any given flight.

Goddammit, how do we still have another hour left? My stomach is cramping from sitting awkwardly in order to not touch these strangers surrounding me.

I miss Nike Pro Combat girl. I bet she brought her own mini vodka bottles and is scrolling Tinder. Or she’s alseep on the shoulder of the dude in the middle seat ahead of me.

Is she watching The Thomas Fucking Crown Affair? Is this some type of sick joke? We could have shared headphones and cocktails and a life together.

Did someone fart or is there a baby on board that I somehow missed?

*Crying commences from two rows back*

Of. Course.

Why didn’t you bring the Ambien, Will? Always bring the Ambien. Sure, you’d be robotripping once you get off the flight but at least you could shamelessly be catatonic and make people move around you rather than overthinking what type of germs App dude has on his elbows that are intruding into everyone’s personal space.

I can’t tell because I’m listening to Kid Rock on full blast but I think the pilot just said to prepare for landing. Hey dude in front of me, that means put your fucking seat up and stop talking to my future Pro Combat girlfriend. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Oh, so now you decide to put the window up to see our landing. Cool, man. No, no, I really appreciated you making this flight into one giant, germ-filled, sweaty Panic Room the entire time.

Okay, not a bad landing. We made it.

Hold on, what? This doesn’t look like Detroit.

*Takes off headphones, brings up GPS on phone*

Are we seriously in fucking Cincinnati? I’m going to ask this slob next to me what’s going on.

“Yeah, we had to land here because of wind in Detroit, should only be here for a few hours before taking off again though.”

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

Image via Shutterstock

Email this to a friend


Log in or create an account to post a comment.

Click to Read Comments (19)