The Eight-Hour B.O. Flight
There are certain things you can prepare for when taking an eight-hour flight.
You can prepare for turbulence.
You can prepare for a screaming baby.
You can prepare for the guy behind you who thinks your seat is a punching bag.
You can even prepare for airline food.
But there is one thing no frequent flyer is ever truly prepared for:
The man with B.O. sitting beside you.
It started innocently enough.
The passengers boarded, found their seats, stuffed their carry-ons into the overhead bins and settled in for the eight-hour flight to Europe.
Then he arrived.
Big guy.
Sweater.
Heavy jacket.
And judging by the smell that followed him down the aisle, he had apparently been traveling since the invention of the airplane.
He sat down in 22B.
The passenger in 22A looked at him.
Then looked at the overhead air vent.
Then looked at the flight attendant.
She gave him the look every flight attendant learns:
“I’m sorry, but you’re on your own.”
The doors closed.
The engines started.
And that’s when the smell arrived.
Not gradually.
It didn’t drift in.
It landed.
The passenger in 22A took a breath.
Then immediately regretted it.
He tried the obvious solution.
Air vent.
Full blast.
He adjusted it directly onto his face.
Nothing.
The smell simply overpowered the ventilation system.
It was like trying to put out a forest fire with a drinking straw.
The passenger leaned toward the window.
The man beside him leaned toward the aisle.
The passenger leaned farther toward the window.
The man leaned farther toward him.
It became a silent game of B.O. chess.
Meanwhile, the passenger across the aisle was starting to notice.
He looked over.
His eyes widened.
Then he quietly reached into his carry-on and pulled out a surgical mask.
The passenger in 22A looked at him.
“Where did you get that?”
The man whispered, “COVID.”
“I don’t care what it is. Give me one.”
Soon, three rows of passengers were wearing masks.
One woman was holding a sweater over her nose.
A man had opened a bag of potato chips and was holding it under his nose.
Another passenger was repeatedly spraying his own cologne.
Eventually, the flight attendant came down the aisle.
“Is everything okay?”
The passenger in 22A looked at her.
“Ma’am, I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have another seat?”
She checked the cabin.
“I’m afraid we’re completely full.”
He pointed subtly toward 22B.
“What if I sit in the galley?”
She smiled.
“I’m afraid passengers aren’t allowed to sit there.”
“What about the lavatory?”
“Definitely not.”
“Could you just open the emergency exit?”
“No.”
At this point, the smell had reached the row behind them.
A passenger whispered:
“Is something burning?”
The flight attendant checked the overhead compartments.
“No.”
“Then what is that?”
She looked toward 22B.
Then she quietly said:
“That’s… a passenger.”
The captain came over the PA.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re currently experiencing some unusual atmospheric conditions in the cabin.”
The passenger in 22A looked around.
“Atmospheric conditions?”
The captain continued:
“We ask everyone to remain seated and keep their air vents open.”
The passenger whispered:
“That’s not atmospheric conditions. That’s a biological incident.”
Four hours into the flight, things got desperate.
People started negotiating.
“Give me your seat in first class and I’ll give you my house.”
One passenger offered the man in 22B $100 to change seats.
He refused.
“I like this seat.”
The passenger nearly cried.
“Of course you do.”
Then, somewhere over the Atlantic, the miracle happened.
The man in 22B finally fell asleep.
The passenger in 22A carefully reached over and turned his air vent toward him.
Full blast.
The smell began moving backward.
Row 23.
Row 24.
Row 25.
Within minutes, passengers in the rear cabin were covering their faces.
Finally, the flight attendant came running down the aisle.
“What happened?”
The passenger in 22A smiled.
“Nothing.”
She looked toward 22B.
“Did he wake up?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
She leaned closer.
“We’re almost out of fuel.”
The passenger stared at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She whispered:
“We’ve been considering using him as an alternative fuel source.”
The plane landed safely eight hours later.
Everyone applauded.
Not because the flight was over.
Not because they had survived the turbulence.
Not because they were finally in Europe.
They applauded because the doors opened…
and fresh air came in.
The man in 22B woke up, stretched, smiled and said:
“That was a pretty comfortable flight.”
The passenger in 22A grabbed his suitcase and walked away.
“Yeah.”
He took one final breath of fresh airport air.
“Except for the turbulence.”
The man looked confused.
“What turbulence?”
The passenger turned around.
“Exactly.”