Sitting next to the Jolly Green Giant

Somewhere over eastern British Columbia, the flight attendant leans over to one of the passengers and says there's a Chinook in Calgary. Today's temperature was 10 degrees and if the television is to be believed, it will soar to 16 tomorrow. Something is messed up when one day it can be -10 and then 10 above the next. Someone's messing with the thermostat, I think. Kind of like my colleagues at work. One minute they're cold, next minute they're hot. They come into my office and start playing with the thermostat. What they don't know is that the building is whacked, so that the thermostat in my office really controls the copy room, or lunch room.

After my flight to Calgary, I returned to the same aircraft, an Air Canada Embraer 190--a sweet little ride--for my trip to Toronto, where I'll connect to a Carribean Airlines service to Trinidad. I settle into my seat at 25F, and as most of the passengers are on board, I'm glad for the spare seat next to me. Then this man plunks a bag down on the that empty seat. Some women would probably find this man's rugged looks attractive. But to me, he has just invaded my space. His curly, greying blond hair masks his true age. He looked like a surf dude from yester-year. Actually he looked a lot like Jesus. I don't know if Jesus was in to surfing, although I imagine him hanging 10, while Moses was parting the Red Sea.

This guy's hands were so big, I bet he could have snapped a surfboard in half. Have you ever sat beside someone on a plane or a bus that when they sit down they fall into the seat, sending a tsunami wave of energy to the people sitting next to them? It was like the Jolly Green Giant had sat next to me, but instead of pulling out a bag of peas or corn, he reached into his bag and unwrapped a smelly burger from Harvey's.

The airplane started smelling like a cheap hamburger joint, which wouldn't be a problem if we were at a some stinkin' hamburger joint, but we weren't. We were in a small confined space, and the smell of onions and pickles, mixed with ketchup and grease turned my stomach.

He then pulled out a bag of peanuts and started breaking the shells, which landed all over his lap and the floor. I swear if I had hair, I would still be picking peanut shells from my head. Did he think he was at a ball game. I half expected him to crack open a can of Bud.

And what's with people cracking open peanut shells. I thought it was just squirrels and chipmunks that did that.

What's almost as bad as sitting next to someone munching on a greasy burger, is sitting behind someone who thinks that no one is sitting behind them. There was a couple in front of me, who after selecting a movie to watch reclined their seat, so their head was in my lap. Unless it's a night flight federal regulation should prohibit seats from reclining. Did they think they were sitting in their living room. They would also move around in their seats, and send the drink glass and soda can flying (fortunately both were empty).

I amused myself by watching some foul-mouthed comedian on the TV monitor. Despite the limitations in this guy's vocabulary (I wonder if his mother knew how he talked), I caught myself laughing out loud a few times.

I thought I would listen to something more wholesome, so I clicked on the Celine Dion CD. I tired after one song. There was a time when I couldn't get enough of Celine, but I've matured. Despite pressing every button on the inflight entertainment system, I couldn't get rid of her. "My Heart Will go On," still rings through my ears.

A snowstorm greeted us as we landed in Toronto. If only I had a moment to go for a walk as the fluffy white flakes swirled down. But alas, I had a flight to Trinidad to catch.