You take your assignment and settle in, an hour and fifteen minutes is going to be a breeze. The air-tight cabin is always overheated and sends you dreary, you bow your head to one side and begin to drift.
Turbulence? You query as an unwelcome rumble disturbs your journey beyond the clouds. Smooth sailing, your assertion intervenes, and a positive glance at the clock ensures this trek will soon descend. Then it suddenly hits you.
At first a stammering, then a slight tremor. You try to ignore, open the window shutter, an imagination will only get you so far now; you're wide awake and on full alert! A grumbling manoeuvre from within and it's game on; twenty-five minutes of holding an uncomfortable release. But it twists. Then it churns. Before long, you're shuffling in your seat and trying to gauge whether anyone is watching. You take a deep breath and consider your next move. Sit up straight perhaps? You ask yourself silently. Adjust my safety buckle? This might squeeze it all in.
Just three minutes have passed in what feels an eternity, you loosen your shirt. Is it getting hotter in here? You wonder perilously. Wait. Movement from beneath. Like a deep inhale, the menacing geyser about to erupt subsides. For now.
Although the captain request preparation for landing, settling your angst a little, there is still an agonising five minutes until you're free. Like a gulp, your insides brace for one heck of a climax. Will you make it? It's anyone's guess now. The irritating passenger in 12e directly in front of you is now grinding at your conscience, egging you to get jittery. STOP MOVING ABOUT, YOU JERK! I'M TRYING TO HOLD A RIPSNORTER IN BACK HERE! You imagine clasping the neck of this incessant traveller when a bump hits hard from below. Surely not? You realise the plane has crunched into contact with planet earth, at last.
As the seatbelt illumination dissolves, it seems that unpleasantry has arrived. Like the meniscus fluid about to budge passed its capacity ridden container, you can't take much more. A stench begins to sneak its way through the jammed aisle. The facial expressions of the onlookers begin to play out The Exodus, it's violating the most of our innocence. Even the dealer can't stand it, you fill your cheeks with air, hoping the wave of toxicity will move on, leaving a bearable whitewash. A small rumble, almost a creak, a door opening from within your undies. Wait. You've still got yours. Wha?... Why?... How?...
Your grumbling has made the tumultuous trek and still a foul odour is, dare I say it, terrorising the plane! You scan the immediate area, amongst people trying to duck for cover, shield with scarves or barricade behind fellow passengers, you spot that distinct look. It's that look of fear, embarrassment and shock all in one; that look of guilt! Here, you have had one almighty battle to withhold nasal torture and this disgusting, vile, inconsiderate... you! Passenger 12e stands and takes a bow. "Well played...Well played". Another day, another airport.