Dear Mr. Perfect:
I’m torn. If I could give an award for my all time favorite random seat companion/forced shared space occupant, you would surely be the top contender. The gods have smiled on me today, this I know. You have your headphones on, clearly signaling that you have less than zero interest in me or my ilk and further that you have nothing of value to offer anyone during this flight. You are in the perfect sleeping position, arms crossed and off the armrest; effectively rendering the awkwardness of the dreaded (but requisite) undercover elbow battle unnecessary. The last guy I sat next to on a flight was so emotionally invested in controlling the armrest, he was basically pinning my arm like Sylvester Stallone’s character in that movie “Over The Top” where Sly has to arm wrestle in order to gain custody of his son. Except this guy was apparently fighting to gain custody of the aroma of our row, pushing my arm out of the way to wolf down the extra spicy chili he was later going to gas us out with. Because, you know, when you’re about to be sequestered on a plane for a few hours, your natural inclination is to stop and buy a bowl of chili. 

But I digress.

Even your choice to keep the window shade closed is above reproach. Whereas most barbarians of the skyway are a constant offense to the nose, reeking of either stale cheese or Axe body spray (or both) you have absolutely no smell. At all. You are neither snoring nor drooling. You haven’t stepped over me in a desperate frenzied dash for the bathroom five seconds before landing, thereby demonstrating expert bladder and bowel control. You are the ideal traveler. It’s my lucky day! 

Or so I thought. 

Here’s the problem. Being disinterested while traveling is sort of “my thing.” If everyone takes a page from your playbook, we will all be sitting here keeping to ourselves, dressed nicely, odorless, completely devoid of interaction and I will have to take a closer look at my own shitty behavior instead of enjoying the false sense of superiority that traveling allows me to experience. In short, you’re harshing my vibe. 

Please stop. I have enough on my mind right now, the last thing I need to start thinking about is what an asshole I am. 


PS. I do want the name of whoever does your microderm. Thanks. 

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