Time Traveler

A Trip Across Time Zones: A Novella

Hour 1: We've just boarded the airplane and the excitement is thick. Everyone is clean, the babies are tidy, the men have used up every last drop of perfume they own. We're going to America. Flight attendants uniforms are well pressed, hair pulled back into tight buns, makeup perfect. The couple next to me fight to buckle their seat belts and the old Indian man is smiling in the aisle despite several urges from the flight attendant to sit down. The Egyptian couple near the windows attempt to calm down an uncomfortable baby by feeding him milk. The Fasten Seat Belt sign comes on. We're taxiing down the runway and we're off. I fiddle with the state of the art entertainment system and find an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Soon I'm asleep.

Hour 2: I'm awoken by the sound of a screaming baby. He is lying flat in the aisle. His father is asleep and his mom is looking at the refreshment cart which is inching towards us. She lifts him and soothes him in a foreign language. Arabic. The flight attendant finally arrives on our row and offers us a meal. Chicken or vegetarian. Chicken I say. Something to drink? Water. She hands me about 2 tablespoons of water. I find another movie and munch on my meal. This is going well so far.

Hour 3: I've somehow fallen asleep again but wake up to small turbulence. The flight attendant is pushing her drink cart back to the kitchenette at the back of the plane. I find another movie. I confirm that the lady in 26E definitely forgot to use deodorant this morning. Someone coughs a few rows ahead. I think of Zika. And TB.

Hour 4: I've been waiting to use the bathroom for 10 mins now. The lady who went in ahead of me had been eating something in a brown paper bag while we waited at the gate. It didn't smell good then. I weigh the risk of a bladder infection or incontinence versus using the bathroom after her. The bathroom door opens and the lady exits leaving a trail of rotten meat behind her. A bearded man slips into the bathroom ahead of me. I check whether I'm invisible. I can see my arms, my legs. Why couldn't he?

Hour 5: I've lost track of time and timezones but I'm pretty sure we're halfway there. Stinky lady next to me turns to the navigation app on her screen and I see a tiny image of our plane on the map? How are we still over the Middle East. 10 more freaking hours? Egyptian baby starts to scream again and Stinky lady stretches her arms to use the controls on her screen. I may not survive.

Hour 6: About 5 people have walked down the aisle and brushed my shoulder each time. It's beginning to hurt. The flight attendant is wheeling her cart down the aisle again. What is she up to now? I can't possibly be hungry! She gets to my row and asks chicken or vegetarian. I think of suggesting the Lumosity site to strengthen her memory. But I feel bad for her. She is starting to look a bit ragged. Chicken I say. She hands me something containing chicken. Soon I'm eating a chocolate cupcake. It's the middle of the night.

Hour 7: Twice the flight attendant has tripped on little Egyptian boy asleep in the aisle. Luckily she's wearing flats or he'd be dead. A kid a few rows ahead of me is turning his overhead lights on and off, on and off. I consider walking up there and slapping him but luckily a flight attendant walks up and wakes his father. Dad slaps him upside his head. Solid third world parenting.

Hour 8 (I think): I've given up on tracking where we are. Last I checked, we were over Iceland, I think. It may have been wishful thinking. We're somewhere. I've had two more meals. The lady infront of me is hoarding her leftovers and the plane is starting to smell of stale food. And farts. And unwashed bodies. I consider the number of tylenol in my bag. How many do I need to take in order to pass out but not die? Someone sneezes and a baby starts to cry. I remember that I'll need to repeat this trip at the end of this project. I consider becoming a full time artist. Or a writer. Maybe a writer.

Hour 9: There is a lot of turbulence. The Fasten Seat Belt sign is on. Egyptian dude gets up to pee. Several people shout at him to sit the hell down. Patience is running thin.

Hour 11: I've somehow fallen asleep for a beautiful 2 hours and when I wake up its nolonger dark. The flight attendant pushes her little cart up the aisle. I guess it's breakfast time. Again.

Hour 13: The air is putrid. Farts, stale food, bad breath, perfume, and other body odors accost me as I wake up from yet another nap. I look up the map and by some miracle we've crossed the Atlantic and we're cruising down the east coast of Canada.

Hope 15: We're almost there. We're almost there. The flight attendants have passed out the custom forms and there is a mad rush to get to the overhead bins for passports. This requires people to lift theirs arms and I wish for more turbulence. Sweet Jesus! It's like guava bush in here. I sniff my underarms and it turns out that I too I'm contributing to the aroma.

Hope 16: We've landed! The pilot has welcomed us to Philadelphia. I realize that I can nolonger feel my toes and look down at my feet. They're unrecognizable. Every drop off water I've consumed has migrated to my feet. My stylish Sketchers look laughable. I did not know someone could get a muffin top around their shoes.

And just like that it's over. We file out of the airplane, bumping into each other in an attempt to escape. The flight attendants say bye at the exits. They're all smiling those fake smiles. I look at their feet. They're not swollen. I want to stop and ask what their secret is but I'm not willing to stay in this metal hell for one more second. I hoist my back pack on and exit the airplane. At this point, I'll vote for which ever candidate promises funding for teleportation research. Well maybe not.