I'll preface this with the fact that I don't fly often. Road trips are more my style and my last flight confirms this for me.
So, I didn't actually book this flight. My sister-in-law was in charge of that. She was fully aware of my triskaidekaphobia beforehand but chose row 13 anyways. Upon looking at my boarding pass, I knew it was going to be a doozy of a flight.
It was a fairly small plane. I sat in the middle seat because it was easier for her to get out in the aisle seat with a baby. Our window seat neighbor arrived and squeezed in past us. I'm just saying, waiting until the last minute to put your compression socks on, in the middle of a hot a$$ crowded plane is not the best idea. But, I politely scooted over as much as I could so she could have plenty of room.
About halfway up to altitude, I smelled a familiar smell so what's the first thing an ostomates does? I did a quick over-the-shirt bag check to make sure all was intact. No problems with my bag so I attributed the smell to my baby nephew.
About five minutes later, I smelled it again. Wasn't the baby this time because my SIL checked his diaper. I ignored it and waited for my free pretzels.
I bet you can't guess what happens next. Well, maybe you can. The smell came back. Then, I noticed my window-seat-compression-sock-wearing neighbor start to flip through a magazine rather quickly. She found a perfume sample page and quickly tore it out. It was Polo by Ralph Lauren. She started waving it, trying to be inconspicuous, but nevertheless, ended up wafting a potent stream of god awful floral scent my way.
So, here I am, squished in a tiny seat, basking in the smell of farts mixed with Polo. And mind you, this kept happening every 5 or so minutes. I swear, I thought the oxygen masks were going to drop down any second. I was definitely lacking air.
Because things normally don't go my way, of course, the window-seat-compression-sock-wearing neighbor of mine pulls out a Big Mac. Like, really? You have the nervous flight farts and you're gonna top it off with a Big Mac? Sh!t fire.
I told my SIL that I HAD to go to the bathroom. I'm normally not a claustrophobic person but the farts were starting to close in on me. Just my luck, the stewardesses were delivering drinks at that time so I couldn't get to my designated toilet. Whatever. At this point, I just have to get away from the smell so I high-tailed it to first class. I didn't actually have to go but I needed an escape. It's bad when you go to an airplane potty to escape the smell next to you. Just suck on that for a second.
Anyways, I reluctantly returned to my seat. And, my Big-Mac-Eating-Compression-Sock-Wearing-Polo-Wafting-Nervous-Fart-Window-Seat neighbor did her due diligence to make the rest of my flight a stinky one.
I'm the one with a bag here, people. But, it was awful. I'll never fly again.