Re: That Guy and the Big Imaginary Race.

Don't you just hate That Guy? It doesn't matter the situation in life, you can always find That Guy who is somehow drawing attention to himself and just being an all out douchebag. No one ever wants to be That Guy, and the best part about spotting him/her in any setting is that you automatically are relieved that at least you're not That Guy...someone has already swiped up that title so you can go about your evening or afternoon without further concern.

On my recent flight back to the states, I had a connecting flight in Reykjavik, Iceland; and to my delight the flight was less than half full. In fact, I was able to stretch out in my row and watch Family Guy from my beloved horizontal position. Once it was clear just how empty the plane was, the passengers started moving about and getting their own rows, too. Shortly after take-off a man who was probably in his mid-forties made his way back to the row opposite my row. He was wearing dark jeans, a t-shirt and an argyle sweater vest; he looked like a cross between a professor and a janitor. His head was shaved and he had on running sneakers that were bright white and looked as though he had just taken them out of the box that morning.

The flight was five hours long, and while he remained seated like a normal person for the first hour, it was the last four hours that were torturous to watch.

That Guy couldn't stop getting up and pacing; when pacing wasn't cutting it, he started doing lunges, then squats, and wow, before I knew it, he was running in place. If that wasn't enough, after running in place for a few minutes he checked his pulse. On several occasions the flight attendants asked him to take his seat; not only was he in the way of people trying to use the loo but he was interrupting the food and drink service. I do not like my drink service interrupted for any reason!

I couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Had he not taken his medication that morning? Was this the result of spending too much time in Iceland? Sure, he was taller than me and might need to stretch his legs from time to time, but he wasn't a giant; it wasn't as though five hours of sitting was going to forever cripple him or anything.

When he was forced to sit, he would rotate his shoulders and crack his neck as if preparing for a big race, and then just when I thought he was down for the count, he'd be up again. And he'd be reaching for his toes, and then he'd do yoga warrior poses, and next he'd be breathing as if he was in a Lamaze class...I had never seen anything like it.

I tried desperately to enjoy my Bloody Mary and focus on the Griffin family, but it was just impossible. That Guy was relentless, he refused to stop warming up for his imaginary race! I felt myself getting antsy, I felt like I needed to move too; as if I had a twitch and needed to crack my knuckles or something...his inability to sit still was contagious so I started tapping my foot as if trying to keep up with a maniacal marching band - it was exhausting!

Finally, during the last twenty minutes of the flight, he was forced to stay in his seat with his belt fastened; and surprisingly, it was at this point he just fell asleep. When I gathered my things to exit the plane, I looked at him and he was still out; I debated waking him with a smack upside the head and disrupting his nap as he had disrupted my day but figured I was back on US soil and didn't want to slip back into bad behavior so easily...so I kindly walked away, but not without deliberately bumping into his row first, you know, for my own entertainment. But I never looked back to see if he awoke...

xo.Mandy.

Now a history about tellers of the tall tales...Pomegranate Seeds...