Sandwich of Ruin!

Airplane Ambience: Extended Version

Traditionally, any time I board an airplane, I survey the people seated around me to ascertain those who may be troublesome fellow passengers. For example, I'll take note of any babies or toddlers who look like the crying and shouting type, I can usually pick out those passengers who probably are chatterboxes and should be avoided like the plague, and I've developed a finely tuned radar that can pick out any passengers attempting to ignite their shoes.

So it was a couple weeks ago, as I sat down for a 14 hour flight to Tokyo, that I took special notice of all my nearby fellow passengers, and I was secure in the knowledge that everyone looked pretty quiet and normal, so I settled in for the long haul.

About two hours into the flight, however, I noticed that the gentleman seated across the aisle from me was having significant drowsiness issues. The key indicator, for me, was that he had nodded off into his lunch tray and was wearing much of the dessert brownie and frosting on his forehead, and he seemed rather oblivious to that fact. He had since regained consciousness and was fumbling with his salad, so I went back and focused my attention on my own meal.

It was at that time that the man threw his salad at me.

Okay, he didn't necessarily THROW his salad at me. Rather, he nodded off again while holding his salad cup, and an involuntary muscle spasm sent his salad my way. Using my deductive reasoning—taking into account the brownie on his forehead and the involuntary salad chucking—I came to the conclusion that something was most definitely wrong.

The flight attendants, too, took notice of the situation, and it wasn't long after the salad was flung my way that a team of three attendants were hovering around the man, asking if everything was all right. Now, I was almost 80 percent positive that man was drunk out of his mind, so I was a little surprised to hear him answer questions quite clearly. When a flight attendant finally asked if he was taking any medication, he said he had taken a prescription sleep aid called Ambien.

I knew very little about Ambien prior to that flight but, I'm here to tell you that I'm now a certified expert on the effects of Ambien and, as an expert, I'm telling you to steer clear of that drug if you're planning on getting anywhere within 200 yards of an airplane.

Following the flight attendant pow-wow, the remainder of the man's lunch was taken away and an announcement went over the P.A. system asking if there were any doctors on board. Within five minutes, a doctor was testing Ambien Guy's blood pressure and, if you can believe it, a gynecologist arrived shortly thereafter offering her assistance. The blood pressure results came back A-okay, and there didn't seem to be much need for a gynecologist, so the crowd dispersed, leaving Ambien Guy to perform his next act.

No sooner had the doctor and gynecologist left when Ambien Guy realized his food tray had been taken away. Unfortunately, Ambien Guy remembered that he had a leftover Subway sandwich tucked in the pouch of the seat in front of him.

What transpired was, quite possibly, the most disgusting display of sandwich eating I ever had the misfortune to witness. In his semi-awake status, Ambien Guy took huge gulping bites of his sandwich, while copious amounts of sandwich ingredients cascaded into his lap, onto the floor, and basically everywhere but into his mouth. Once he had completed his cow-like munching, he slowly crumpled up the Subway wrapper—along with considerable sandwich parts—and, I kid you not, he threw it onto the head of the person seated in front of him. For his part, Ambien Guy didn't seem to notice his rudeness, as he was busy slowly and deliberately picking and eating the sandwich ingredients that had piled up on his lap.

At that point, I think the Ambien had taken primary control, as Ambien Guy's motor skills had deteriorated to the point where he couldn't even lower his tray table, and instead he just aimlessly poked and prodded at it, and he seemed to be genuinely irritated that he was apparently devolving into a state resembling Stephen Hawking, except without the genius mind.

The final straw, for me, came when Ambien Guy decided that, for his final act, he was going to go to the bathroom. He was trying, with great effort, to get out of his seat, and he couldn't seem to grasp the idea that he had to undo his seat belt first. Instead, he reached out towards me, his arms clumsily sweeping the air, his eyes eerily vacant and his mouth half open with a bit of tomato stuck to his right cheek. It occurred to me that, if this zombie of a man did somehow manage to get to me, he might just start trying to eat my brain. That was all I could take. Avoiding his grasping hands, I undid my seat belt and bolted to the back of the aircraft, where I asked a flight attendant to either move Ambien Guy somewhere else, or jettison him from the plane.

Eventually, the flight attendants were able to move people around so that Ambien Guy could get four empty seats to himself, so he could get comfortable and hopefully let sleep overtake him entirely, rather thancontinue on as the three-quarters asleep living dead specimen that he was. Thankfully, the plan worked, as Ambien Guy drifted off and didn't wake up for the next eight straight hours.

Perhaps the most annoying part of the whole ordeal was that, when Ambien Guy eventually came around, he didn't remember ANYTHING that happened during the flight. Nothing. None of it. Zero. Zip. Nada.

So, if you're considering taking Ambien on your next long-distance flight, please, consider my advice: get drunk instead; it's more dignified.

Posted by Ryan at April 24, 2006 03:41 PM | TrackBack