The overhead bin

Today started out like many of my other travel days. I managed to sneak in a quick workout before rushing home to straighten up and head to the airport. I hate being hungry on flights when no airlines serve food anymore, and I hate coming home to a dirty place. To these ends, I made myself a bowl of oatmeal and subsequently loaded and ran the dishwasher before I left the door.

My first flight went off with little fanfare. I was able to get myself a decent seat, but not without shelling out an extra $43 for Economy Plus (gotta love United...NOT!) After thumbing through the Hemispheres magazine for a little while, I dozed off and slept for the remainder of the flight to Denver. I inhaled a soup, salad and sandwich at the Mile High Sports Bar and Grill in terminal B and then made my way to gate 47 for my connecting flight to Omaha.

Unfortunately, I drew the short straw and ended up with a middle seat and by the time my boarding group came up, just about all of overhead bin space was gone. Not at all flustered by this, I reached over the gentleman in the aisle seat to place my computer bag and jacket while I pondered the compartment conundrum overhead. Looking a little irritated, he didn't take his eyes off me for the next few moments as I proceeded adjust the contents of the bin to make my "rolly" fit. Luckily, I find humor in such things as people putting handbags and jackets in the overhead on a completely sold out flight. I moved somebody's jacket and placed it on top of another suitcase. I stood a computer bag upright that had been laid on its side. Mr. Seat 6C was getting impatient and continued to be visibly shaken. Perhaps it was his stuff that I was re-arranging. Finally, i had made nearly enough room for my bag, but I realized that the bin wouldn't close if things stayed the way they were.

By this time, I was certain that 6C would offer a hand and that maybe he or whoever else owned the offending laptop bag and leather jacket would claim them and place at their feet or something to alleviate the situation. No such luck. I searched around for a pillow, having acquired the "lift the front of the bag" trick from a flight attendant ahwile back. I couldn't find a pillow, so I sat down. That's when 6C put his Hater Hat on.

"There's no way that's going to close," he said in a condescending, nosey neighbor sort of way.

I gazed in his direction and paused for dramatic effect like the pawn shop owner that, much to the chagrin of Dan Akroyd's Louis Winthorpe in Trading Places repeats himself in his proclamation that "In Philadelphia, you'll get 50 bucks..." for the Rolex watch that Winthorpe was trying to unload. I then stepped over him to get to my middle seat (choosing Brad Pitt's option B for plane seating etiquette, for those of you up on Fight Club).

He was very uneasy for the last few moments before takeoff as the flight attendants tried to get everyone seated and out of the row so that the plane could push back. When the flight attendant finally came over and unsuccessfully tried to close the bin, she started asking which articles belonged to whom.

I'm tired, so I'll make a long story short (no, really this time). After she exhausted the same methods that I had tried (including the pillow) she got Mr. 6C to put his computer bag under the seat in front of him. At 5'10", the Louis Carnesecca/Technicolor Dreamcoat lookin' sweater wearing Mr. 6C had plenty of legroom to spare.