Freaking Out on the Plane

       I went to visit my friend in Edmonton last week and had to travel there and back alone. I don't mind being alone, I just hate being alone in public. It's incredibly awkward.
       My flight there was uneventful. On the way back, though, I had to take two planes with a layover in Calgary. On the first plane I had that beautiful moment when you are stranding in the aisle after using the bathroom and the flight attendants have chosen this convenient time to hand out drinks from their aisle-sized cart. This means you can't pass them unless you climb over other passenger's laps so you are left standing there staring at a sea of strange faces and waiting. Not only that but I was sitting in row 8 and when I got out of the bathroom they were maybe by row 3.
       Eventually they let me pass by backing up, which was a fun little ordeal in such a tight space, and they figured while I was standing there in front of them they may as well offer me my drink. I like getting ginger ale on planes, especially 4 rows before I was supposed to be served, but I ended up feeling weird about it since I was just standing in the aisle in front of them watching them awkwardly maneuver their cart so I could get through while drinking a cold beverage. I felt like a slave driver.
       On the second plane I fell asleep. I like sleeping on the tray table in front of me but I HATE it when the owner of the seat with my tray table leans their seat back so I have to hunch over like a mutated gorilla to sleep. I did it though; I wedged my head in the remaining teeny crevice with my poor neck jarred at ridiculous angles and actually fell asleep.
       I must have dreamed about something weird though, because all I remember is being in a pleasant and fuzzy world when suddenly I am jolted to consciousness by the seat belt indicator ding and having a major spazz attack. I freak out of my blissful oblivion and terrify the poor kind ladies on either side of me. The seat belt indicator ding is not very loud and far from scary. Unless you are a mutated gorilla peacefully dreaming in the crevice of your tray table, of course.