EXTREMELY funny post

NOTE: This is was not typed by me, but a member at Airliners.net - VeeSeeTen:

Flying on Jetblue, SAN to JFK last year up to visit an old friend in Connecticut - worst seatmate of all time. I don't know how many of you have ever been sat on a plane, train or bus and have seen 'that' guy walking down the isle and just knew he'd sit next to you, but I encountered that sinking feeling as an enormous man in a wifebeater waddled towards me down the isle, already loudly overusing the word 'bro' at 20 paces.....

Anyway, gastro-slug sits down between me (isle) and backwards baseball hat dude (window) and proceeds to introduce himself to BBHD, with which, significant and disturbing use of the words 'bro', 'sick' and 'shizzle' ensued... Eventually they presumably ran out of Jackass episodes to talk about and so, reeking of cigarettes and B.O. gastro turns to me. "Hey bro, ahm Scatt, whads up, whadsurname and whereyerfram?"

"Hey, nice to meet you Scott, my name is Nick and I'm from the UK"

At this point, my newest, bestest, rotundest buddy extends a chubby hand to me and starts wringing my hand for all its worth. The other hand, raised high over my head and pointing downards was suddenly employed in aiding his cry to the whole plane, "Hey yo people! We gat SLICK NICK from da YOOOUKAAAY here! Alright!" Followed by a loud whoop. Now let me just say here, I'm a nice guy, I'm perfectly willing to give people the benefit of the doubt - afterall, in spite of the fact that this man had just provided me with one of the most excruciatingly embarrassing moments of my life in front of a packed A320, he was at least friendly and well meaning. Or so I thought.

After this episode and a short quiz of 'Questions Americans Inevitably Ask Brits' ensued, such as "say Cow in a Briddish accent", "ok, now say lunchbox", "ok ok ok, NOW say Gastroenteritis dude!", as well as the all conquering "which do you like better, America, or Briddan?" and "I'm 627th generation Irish y'know...we should hang out!" All questioned out, I politely requested a little privacy, which he mercifully felt was fair enough. However, his solution was to busy himself setting up a set of iPod speakers on his tray table and blasting out Bob Marley at near enough full volume, while informing anyone within a 10 seat radius about how "toadally waysted" he was going to get on this flight.

I should probably mention a detail I've deliberately omitted until now...we were still on the ground at this point. Anyway, we taxi to the threshold, Bob still singing righteously away and no sign of any cabin crew to make him shut the sodding thing off. Highlights of the climb to 10,000 feet included being informed what a "French P.O.S." our Airbus was and sporadic bro talk with backwards baseball hat dude about Flava of Love.

To the tune of brospeak I opted to put in my ear buds and relax with some music. Whether this naivety subconsciously enraged my BFF Scott or not is something that I still question to this day, but whatever the case, he evidently decided that my continued peace and relaxation were just not on. Wrenching my right bud out, he proceeded to violently and vigorously assault my shoulder with the point of his index finger until I acquiesced to his demand that I look out the window. "Bro, dude, homeslice, there's somethin on tha wing beeatch!" "Yes mate, its an engine" Frowning, Scatt seemed more or less satisfied and allowed me to return to my music.

But this was not the end of his campaign, nay, merely the beginning. Over the next hour or so he proceeded to get hammered on vodka and cranberries. Just how many he packed in I'm still not entirely sure, but I will tell you this, it is possible to sway enough sitting down to spill belly into somone's lap sat on your left, whilst simultaneously occupying the two seats immediately to the right. So now you know.

Eventually a flight attendant asked him to switch Bob off (not before spilling a bit of cranberry and vodka into my lap...) and gastro busied himself with BBHD. At this point I snatched a good hours sleep, awaking to find BBHD shouting at gastro to mind his own business. Keeping my right eye firmly shut, I scanned around the cabin, desperate to make eye contact with a fellow passenger, who I vainly hoped may be able to communicate what had transpired to me through an improvised, elaborate system of winking. Alas, before I could figure out how to communicate "whats the smelly git done now" with my left eyelid, he yanks my right ear bud out and proceeds to enthusiastically demonstrate just how many songs on his iPod had the word 'British', 'Queen', 'England' and 'Bulldog' in the title. Eventually tiring of this, he focused himself on the TV screen in front of him, pausing only when he found a documentary about Winston Churchill. After several minutes of brow furrowing, Scatt leaned over to me and with a conspiratory twinkle in his eye, whispered, "Dude, Winston Churchill was a f***in HOMO man!"

That was it, 3 and a half hours was enough and BBHD agreed. The flight attendant was summoned and our plight conveyed. She'd see what she could do about moving us. Half an hour later she was still seeing what she could do and there were only so many more times I could have my ear bud ripped out before my ear came with it. The people in the row behind me tapped my shoulder and offered me a seat inbetween them. Praising every deity I could think of, and inventing a few in the process, I rose from my seat to join them. At this point, an FA rushed over to me and without warning, escorted me to the exit row, where I was confronted with the kind of legroom usually associated with a Maybach limousine, or possibly an Olympic sized jacuzzi. Fantastic, I was saved. And so I whiled away the next twenty minutes or so engaged in a lively Q&A session with the 12 people sat closest to me about the man now slumped presumably unconscious across the row previously occupied by myself and BBHD. After which I settled down for a comfortable nap and an uneventful flight.

So that was my own 'most annoying passenger' ever. I feel I learned much from my friend though. I am now more adventurous and much more wary of frat brothers, for a start. I'm also not planning on flying Jetblue again anytime soon - unless I get the exit row from the start!

(Should just mention, there is no anti-American sentiment implied here at all! I grew up in the states and go back whenever I can, In fact! But honestly, come on...does anyone like frat boys? No...didn't think so.)