Yeah, I'm That Asshole

Since I'm sooooooo important, sometimes I travel for work. Traveling for work is high on my *overrated* list since I'm always stuck by myself in some random hotel and I have to wake up at 4am (long story). Anyway, let me tell you about a recent plane ride down to Boston. Or, rather, up to Boston. It's only an hour flight but, because it's out of LaGuardia, the flight is delayed an hour. When they finally usher us into the teeny plane (it's so small that you can only bring on books and purses--we have leave our carry-on bags at the front door of the plane), my only consolation about the small size is that I'm alone in the two-seat row. Then, the (only) flight attendant says they need someone in the first 5 rows to move to rows 6-9 and someone else to move to rows 10-13 in order to balance the plane. Comforting! So this guy comes to sit next to me. Because he's about my age, gayish, and in a suit, I consider myself lucky--it could be worse, right? It is. Remember, it's a mini plane--the short bus equivelent of a real plane. Even though we're both fairly small people, he's ontopofme. And all of a sudden, I realize that I can smell his breath. And he stinks! I can smell him breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Breathing all of his stinky nastiness into the the little, tiny pocket of air I have to breath. So I pull out a pack of gum and take a piece. And I offer him one politely. He declines. After a few minutes I can't take it, so, I withdraw to pack again and as nice as possible, I say, "I'm sorry to be rude, but can I ask you to take a piece of gum, please?"

Oh yeah, he was the stinky guy on the plane, but I was the asshole.