Thursday, September 24, 2009

That's Obtuse.

I hate reclining seats. The problem that I have is that it takes a real arrogance and selfishness to push that steel mentos button and then throw my weight into the backrest. What if the person behind me has their tray table in the upright and locked position and is leaning over at the exact moment that I decide to indulge in the comforts of modern aeronautical furnishings? God forbid they're changing a baby's diaper on their lap, or possibly loading an automatic shotgun. There are already too many accidental discharges, both baby and Benelli, in this world. Why take my chances?

My basic conundrum boils down to this: Check behind me by ducking my vulnerable and over sized head into the steel battering ram pushcart trafficked aisle, and timidly ask permission of the Australian guy behind me for something that is my FAA given right to enjoy, or, have the gall to hit into that recline and never look back-- literally.

Have I mentioned that this all needs to be accomplished within a moth sneeze of the seat belt light going off? Should I decide to recline, oh say, mid way through the flight, now I'm really pissing the people behind me off. By now, they've settled into a routine and made progress on their seat cushion butt divots. But here comes Capt. Comfortable, selfishly stampeding on their already subatomic leg room.

I'm an ass.

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