Flight home. Junkie time. Yep, got on the plane, a cool technology consultant
guy sat two seats over and tried to convince me to act scary so nobody would
sit next to us. "Roll up your sleeve and show off your tats, I’ll do the crazy
eyes" We thought we were good to go, but right after they closed the doors
to the plane, a woman said, "Is that seat taken?" Damn.
The first thing she
says is, "Sorry I’m stinky, I just got out of rehab." Oh shit, it’s gonna be
a long flight. We warned her that she sat between the wrong guys–we were
planning on drinking the whole flight to celebrate his 100th flight on Southwest
Airlines.
Talk about a captive audience. We spent the next two hours talking her down,
trying to keep her from freaking out and puking her guts out on the plane.
We were regaled with her rehab buddy’s junkie poetry, sat
through a slideshow, begged for pills, saw pictures of her "baby girl," and
asked if we made a lot of money. We did meet a fit model and most of the flight
attendants were nice to us, so it wasn’t all bad. But, my advice, if someone
is going through withdrawals from opiates, try not to let them sit next to
you on a plane.
