Sunday, September 28, 2014

Whose armrest is it anyway?

The bowler seemed just about as menacing as that hound of the Baskervilles as he started running in. As I kept wondering why he wasn't snorting fire, I thought of the aptness of comparing a cricket ball in a fast bowler's hand to a grenade. Why did these stupid pads have to be so heavy? Could the 'keeper see my legs trembling? Hullo...that one's coming at me pretty fast. Can I conjure up a helmet? No can do. Can I at least duck? Too late. Split second logical decision - living > awkwardness. Must...get...hands...up or else I'm swiftly turning into Nearly Headless Nick. Here it comes...


...was how the man at the joystick landed the metal bird, probably saving my nose in the process. As the air into the plane came howling back and the pain in the neck and lower back came sidling back, all I could think of was what a poor old sod I was for thinking 'flight' actually meant 'flying'. Gradually, my peripheral vision revealed a pug-face, which for some strange reason was displaying a rather toothy smile.

Realization dawned upon me in the form of a numb and contorted right hand which I had to extricate from behind my back. "What's the funny?" I said before discovering that my right arm ought to have been on that godforsaken 2-inch wide armrest. These low cost airlines I tell you...

I digress, as is my wont. No, the real reason for that rather jarring display of dentures by my friendly neighbourhood was because he had at last, gained access and held fort to the most prized piece of real estate in the plane - the armrest. I tried to put the blame for this loss on many other factors like sleep, hunger, MS Dhoni etc, but the blame, I realized, lay squarely with me.

Desperate not to give in, I threw a few disgusting looks at said pug-face. Just as his slow neural circuits processed a slightly violent reaction to this (whatever happened to N's third law), my quicker wits enabled me to sermonize him on how it all amounted to not even a semblance of a wrinkle on the fabric of space-time.

An armrest serves two purposes, I expounded. One is obvious - it creates a sort of pseudo hegemony, kind of a 'King of the Far Obscurities of a Cheap Aeroplane' feeling, which although seems good to begin with, can be a total and literal pain in the neck if the seats don't live up to expectations. The second more primeval, elementary and although for some reason, mystifying purpose, is to rest your elbow on it. Since the average people to armrest ratio on your typical airliner is 1, 'Rest and let Rest' is the mantra, I pontificated, trying to open the windows of his 1-BHK brain to the purpose of life and existence. And anyway, your armrest, my armrest, doesn't make an iota of difference, since the airliners are screwing us all on a macroeconomic scale that none but the most able minded can comprehend. While his Pentium III mind was digesting this elaborate discourse, I made a quick getaway, 'accidentally' stomping on his toes.

First they make eyesores sit next to you, and then they have the gall to tell you that all armrest-related disputes must be referred to local jurisdiction! These low cost airlines I tell you...

Oh and by the way, all of the above is fiction, wholly fiction and nothing but fiction, so help me God...but you knew that already didn't you?

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