This week I'm taking a 13-and-a-half-hour Air New Zealand flight from Auckland to Houston. Before nipping over to Memphis for a week. Plenty can go wrong in an airborne stretch like that. I don't mean mechanically. It's safer to be on a plane than not. Sleeping in your own bed is way more risky than flying. The dangers on an aircraft are all of your own making.
I'm talking about long haul humiliations. Most New Zealanders have embarrassed themselves on a plane at some point. Today I want to share some of these stories. Starting with my own.
I was flying between London and Los Angeles on my way home. A lovely lady from Te Awamutu in her 70s was seated beside me in the economy section. We shared some pleasantries over dinner and a couple of reds before I popped two delicious metallic-tasting oval sleeping pills and nodded off peacefully.
Eight hours later I woke up screaming with my face right in her lap. My slumber had been disturbed by turbulence. An impressive amount of thick dribble was bouncing out of the side of my mouth towards her crotch. She looked shell shocked.
Apparently she'd tried many times to push me back upright but I was too heavy. "You dribbled all over me, I couldn't escape," she told me in a shaky voice. Poor lady. I felt terrible. But mid-apology I fell a sleep again, slumping right back towards her lap and only waking when we landed. She wasn't happy.