37 C

On my way to San Francisco. I thought i had lucked out by sitting next to a quiet man with no one on the other side of me (they booked late, so I ended up with a middle seat). at the last possible second, a great big pig of a man comes barreling down the aisle, bumping each seat with his enormous laptop case and not apologizing. Sweating like a great sweaty oaf. Slightly balding, with glasses that were slipping off his face from the sweat. The man reveals that he is British by talking to his comrades in row 38.

"oh dear god, no. Anywhere but 37C"

Of course.. after ungracefully shoving his bag into an overhead bin that had no room left, he plops down next to me. A great puff of wind smelling of pot and urine headed my way. I could almost see the colour of the air change.

After he elbows me a few times in the boob, trying to adjust himself in the seat... he commences his eating regimen.

Before the plane taxis out the man eats the following:
1. an entire roll of rolos
2. an entire roll of mentos
3. an entire roll of tropical life savers
(not sure what’s up with food that comes in a roll)

During his eating regimen, I notice the world’s tackiest gold ring on his pinky. It looks like some sort of currency gone awry.

After takeoff, the man eats an entire bag of raisinettes, devours the delta snack before I could figure out what was going on.. and reads a cheesy stephen king novel while listening to jack johnson and cheryl crow.

Of course, after all that eating.. the man passed gas repeatedly in my direction about 3 hours into the flight and didn't stop until I exited the jetway, gasping for air.