Reversals of fortune are never fun, but it’s a fact of life for people who party correctly. There’s nothing worse than puking on an airplane though, and here’s why.
I make the mistake every bachelor party of booking a flight home before 10pm on Sunday, which means I often find myself flying on the cusp of drunk and hungover. It’s the worst stage of drinking in which to find yourself when boarding a tin can with 180 of your closest strangers. Solitude is the best for hangovers, and airplanes provide anything but.
Yesterday was yet another post bachelor party scheduling nightmare, only I was moving my entire life from Chicago to Los Angeles at the same time. So in addition to feeling like death, I was also the asshole dragging around two giant bags. Turns out my life weighs 102.5 lbs, just like an ex-girlfriend. The only difference is that she never puked, and I was about to. Also, she didn’t have roller wheels and a broken handle.
Nothing can go fast enough
When the body is trying to decide whether or not to purify itself in the waters of Southwest Airlines Flight 4232 lavatory (no tampering with smoke detectors, please), nothing going on can happen fast enough. Those people patiently waiting to find an available aisle seat? They’re all assholes. The guy who boarded with the C group and can clearly see there’s no overhead compartment doors still open? I know damn well this piece of shit is going to walk to the back only to have to fight the flow all the way back to the front and gate check his bag. Finally decided to test the puking on an airplane waters once the drink cart goes by? 45 people want the flight attendant to play mixologist.
I’ve never joined the Mile High Inner-Thigh Pie Club, but I have used the bathroom about 197 times on airplanes so I’m well aware that the accommodations aren’t luxurious. Unless of course you’re gettin’ fly like a G6, Les Grossman style, which I’m not. There’s barely room to stand let alone assume the proper puking position. I mastered the long-distance puke years ago, but not while in motion. Because of course he did, the pilot picked this moment to announce I was “going to experience a little turbulence,” which is pilot code for, “going to experience slamming your head into a wall.”
They know. They all know.
That 3×3 closet of shame isn’t just inconveniently sized, it’s also an echo chamber. For loud pukers like yours truly, this means a pretty reasonable shot at blowing out the ear drums. Even worse, the last 10 rows of the plane is listening to me throw up as clear as day. A few of those people are hungover too, so they now hate me for notifying their bodies that puking was an option just when they thought they had it under control. The looks you get when returning to your seat are nothing short of death wishes. It was food poisoning, people! I swear!
My friendly neighborhood air mother
After puking on an airplane, all I ever want to do is sleep (which is impossible) and pray that I don’t have to go back for round 2. Unfortunately Little Miss I Love Flight Attending wants to coddle me and ensure everything’s ok. Do you need water? Maybe some hot tea? Would you like a pillow and blanket? How about a new liver? No, I don’t need any of that. People who just suction-flushed their dignity down a metal goddess don’t deserve the poor man’s luxuries available on a commercial flight. Unless she has one of these…
17B, who thinks I need Jesus
There’s nothing worse than a cliche that comes true. There are all sorts of terrible passengers next to whom you can be seated. I thought I found the ultimate nightmare on the way back from a Miami bachelor party a month ago, but that’s nothing compared to the woman who wanted to know yesterday if I had accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. Considering I only go to church for weddings and funerals, it’s safe to say Jesus is just my drinking buddy. He’s got some good communal wine though. My biggest problem was that this women who suggested my hangover was the devil’s work wouldn’t accept my need to puke as a sincere effort to purge the demons. Apparently I was just irresponsible.
Thanks to the terrorists winning, I couldn’t bring my industrial sized tube of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream toothpaste (the best oral accessory short of the dental dam) on the airplane. Like I said, I was moving my whole life yesterday so there was no need for travel size toiletries. There’s not much worse than spending 3+ hours suffering teeth coated with McDonald’s new Jalapeno McDouble flavored bile. Of course no one had gum, either. Apparently we’re all real tough guys now and can handle the pressure change with ease.
The solution to all these problems with puking on an airplane is obvious. Just start drinking again before boarding. No hangover, no puke, right? Wrong. Tacking more tasty beverages on the end of a bender is a risky game of “Will they let me on this plane?” Sure it’ll prevent you from throwing up (for now), but there’s a good chance you’re going to lose that game, and then you have to do the same dance the next day. Suck it up, and roll the 35,000 feet puke dice.