Me As A Pervert On Plane

When it comes to travelling, I am not quite my usual self – I easily become a fretter. It is particularly so if a flight is involved. No matter how well-planned and organised I tend to be, anxiety just creeps up from the moment I book the flight. Am I the only one who finds that most airlines use dizzyingly small font size on their website’s booking page? And there is also my bad, if not obsessive habit of proofreading all flight particulars for at least 5 times, mouthing the passport number again and again, just in order to ensure everything’s correct. I’m sometimes anxious as this, thank you very much.

I genuinely admire the 'easy-breezy' travellers, who confidently find themselves at ease on board, strolling in the cabin with much class and nonchalance. I, on the other hand, tend to behave with exceptional clumsiness. Long haul flights are the worst, because I basically cannot rest in motion, for I am too conscious of whether the loo is still available (please refer to my previous post about my issue with the loo). I am also that passenger who spends over 70% of flight time panicking about the mere chance of a flight disaster.

Now, my readers, be seated comfortably and let me share with you a dramatic sex-related anecdote I experienced on the plane.

Me, sex, plane. Sounds juicy, yes?

So I was on the plane to London the other day. The plane took off, the much-loved in-flight entertainment system was in full operation, and you started to hear people laugh hootily to comedy shows like lunatics. You know, typical on-board scenario. 

I forgot my fluffy muji pillow, so I stood up, clacked open the overhead baggage shelf to retrieve my massive baggage. It was a very packed shelf, I tell you, as one bag placed upon another like jenga. I paused for a moment thinking whether I would be able to get my bag out fuss-lessly. With a deep inhale, I stood on tiptoes, as my hands firmly reached and grasped the very bottom of my 10kg bag. Will it fall? Will it fall? Wait… Wait.. WAIT! Ahhhhhh.

It fell, making a noise even the captain could hear.

Not my 10kg bag this time, luckily (though it happened another time when I was on business trip to Taipei. More on that later.) But it was someone else’s shopping bag. Objects scattered everywhere. Packages big and small, everywhere on the aisle now. Brilliant, isn’t it.

Mortified, I apologised immediately to the nearby passengers, even though I hadn't a clue to whom the bag belonged. I was also curious why the owner didn’t bother to stand up to pick up or be mad at me.

But as I knelt down to collect them one by one, I was surprised by what was printed on the packages.

They were sexy ladies wearing S&M leather outfits, handcuffs, uniforms, etc.

“Oh well… I’m so sorry… TO DROP ****SOMEONE ELSE’S BAG***…..” I mumbled…  “Let me get MY bag UP THERE now…” I was suddenly Captain Obvious.

Taken aback by this surprise, I immediately shoved everything back into that big red plastic bag, thinking why the bloody hell he (or she, for I mustn’t gender the use of sex toys) didn’t actually put them in the luggage. 

Okay, now everything's back in place. I hope nobody saw it. (Pretty much everyone did)

"Ammm.. Excuse me" Someone patted on my shoulder from behind.

“Sorry sir, you've missed this.” A guy handed me another bag of hot-blonde-wearing-no-fabric-outfit.

The crowd grew increasingly alerted, and I was in dire need of a clarification that it was not MY hot-blonde-wearing-no-fabric-outfit, obviously. Though I couldn’t possibly clarify that either, obviously. At the time I simply wished the owner of such kinky stuff would stand up so the others would know it’s not mine.

But course, he didn’t. (Why do I keep on using 'him' ?)

So there I was, your kinky young fellow passenger who flew with you for 8 hours. I think some parents actually covered their children’s eyes. I became officially sinful, thank you.