The Trip Back
It’s five-thirty in the morning. It’s hard to believe that just three days after I passed out in the airport, I returned to the exact same spot. Just as tired as when I first arrived in New York. And just as in need of a bed as when I first passed out on the floor.
I don’t know why I continue to torture myself with red eye flights. I’m not a politician or a banker who needs to deal with the financial meltdown. I’m just a guy who works in reality television. The world will not end if I don’t make it back to my office.
And yet, that only seems to sink in when I’m at the airport waiting to board the 7am flight back to Los Angeles.
I want to go pass out in the puddle of drool that I left on the floor three days ago, but there’s a cute girl sitting next to my spot. And even though we’ve never met, I’m worried that if I pass out at her feet it will ruin my chances with her.
I’m barely awake, but in my head we’re already dating. I’ve seen her naked. I know all the kinky things she does in bed.
I sit next to her. For thirty minutes I don’t say a word.
We board the plane together. I follow behind her. I curse the Internet. It never puts me next to the hot girl. We pass one row after the next until we’re both in the back of the plane. I think it’s a mistake. It’s awkward. We’re sitting next to each other.
I tell her I’m not a crazy stalker. She laughs. She’s not worried. But I am.
It’s six in the morning and every lewd thought imaginable about me and her has run through my head. And now she’s sitting next to me. There’s no doubt in my mind: I am a stalker.
The flight takes off. We begin talking. Then we begin texting. We say the things we can’t say in the text.
She’s 21.
She’s never had sex on an airplane.
She wants to.
But not today.
5 hours later, the plane lands.
We haven’t stopped flirting.
I’m in love.
I thank the Internet.
I’m only going to fly red eyes.
