Flight 887 or HELL ...

"Ladies and gentlemen ... we're really sorry about this ... the captain has informed me that there are no gates available ... we'll be waiting for a while ... there are several planes ahead of us, waiting too ... we'll let you know when this changes."

We'd been on the tarmac for 45 minutes, maybe an hour, maybe less. Every flight I take these days I compress my body into a tiny space so as not to touch the passenger to my right or left - this was a packed flight, and I was in the last boarding group. Being in the last boarding group means you must be the villain that removes that "in-between space" that every passenger hopes remains sacrosanct. They hope, despite the network theory, the topological optimization, the science of packing planes and routing for maximum gain - they hope that somehow the algorithm that schedules the plane will throw them a bone. I was the dog who was going to take away the bone.

To my right was some kind of middle-management asshole, dressed in hipster business drag, probably on his way home from a business trip or on his way to one. The younger man, the millennial to my left, was either coming home from college or ... perhaps ... on some kind of business trip as well, some "app developer", creating some app for tracking the movement of decaying meat through the large intestine ... I was the middle-aged burnout software engineer, in the middle, on his way to his last stop, final resting place, heading for the crawlspace known as "home".

"Folks, this is very frustrating ... you need to stay in your seats because we are still on the runway and this is for your safety ..."

The flight had taken about 3 hours, the captain bragged that he would be "getting us in early" - overall, because of being stuck on the tarmac, the flight was about an hour late. My legs were tight, my back crooked like a question mark, my insides writhing from the abnormal compression of torso. I can't prove it, I don't know for certain, but these seats have been getting narrower - sure, I'd gained weight, I was no skinny guy, but my shoulders had more or less stayed the same width these last 20 years. Now, sandwiched between two men I would never want to know, I felt myself dying.

"Dude ... sorry ...", the thirty something businessman to my right had elbowed me when getting out his LENOVO notebook.

"It's ok man, it doesn't matter ...", is all I could say in response.

The younger man, to my left, shoved his feet into my foot space - this was a violation, a true insult against the compact of slave-herds. We were all just cattle being shipped about. The flight attendants would toss their airline branded cheese-it crackers in our faces. They would be confused when I said no. No. No my darling. I do not want to have that nasty yellow-dye-number-78 carbo-wafer shoved into my gullet hole so the shlimbus and batroovian gases would simply rust away my insides as my heart rate increased. No mam, please, keep your free sample of coke or pepsi - I do not need that, I do not want to get up and use the bathroom.

"EXCUSE ME!?!", the man to my right said. The dude in the fashionable slacks with the fashionable smart phone and the LENOVO notebook running a spreadsheet.

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't need to pass gas."

"I didn't fart man", I did fart. I couldn't hold that toxic fumage in my rectal zone much longer. I had made the rookie mistake, during a stopover, of having a few beers and some scofulanian-meat-stew they called "Mongolian Beef". The beef and the beer and the pain of being a slave had been cooking inside of me for several hours. I'd hoped, given that we were going to "arrive early", that I'd be able to hold it back - till we got to our destination. Then, briskly moving off the plane, I could make my way to the airport latrine and relieve my bowels of this satanic concoction.

"You did ... we're all stuck on this plane."

"Dude, what's your problem, are you dying or something?", the millennial chimed in.

"I didn't fart."

"You did man ... this is horrible."

The old lady in front of me turned around, she had to nudge up out of her seat to do so. She gave me this glare, like the "Old Hag" from some medieval story of sleep paralysis, and I was simply crumpled up, compressed, holding my legs together with my hands, feeling death.

The businessman elbowed me again - but this time I could not pawn-it-off as some kind of quasi slave entitlement mistake ... nope ... he struck me in the ribs purposefully.

"Folks, we know this is frustrating ... we hope you can be patient", the chief flight warden spouted over the planes speaker system.

The nudges got worse, the millennial stuck his right foot out and kicked my bag that was wedged under the seat in front, the old lady stood up and glared at me again - clearly the green-gas released from my butt-hole was having some impact.

"Young man, are you sick!", the old lady declared to my face. I did not lock eyes with her. I was in the fetal position, all tired and cramped and compressed and I could feel another fart coming ... perhaps a greasy, terrible, moist, grey, cloud of bile. A vile thing was growing inside me.

Between the kicking from the millennial, the elbowing from the business dude, and the old lady "stretching her legs" and glaring at me ... I couldn't take it ...

I blew up. I lost it. This was it. TSA and the cops and the national guard would have to be notified in a few seconds.

I got up, stood up on my chair ...

"SIR, YOU MUST SIT DOWN!", yelled a flight attendant.

"SIR, WE ARE ALL SUFFERING HERE!"

And then I spoke to the congregation.

"SUFFERING! SUFFERING! FUCK ... SHIT ... SUFFERING! I HAVE DEATH INSIDE MY SHLIMBUS-PIPE! I HAVE THE REMAINS OF SOME DEAD CAT THEY CALLED MONGOLIAN BEEF PERCOLATING WITHIN ME! I HAVE NOTHING BUT REGRET AND SELF-SCORN AND ALL THE SHIT THAT GOES WITH KNOWING THAT I AM NOTHING MORE THAN A PRISONER AND THIS PLANE IS A KIND OF HELL ... FUCK ... FUCK ALL OF YOU ... FUCK THIS AIRLINE ... FUCK THIS PLANE ... FUCK THE BEAN COUNTERS THAT SHRINK THE SEATS AND OPTIMIZE THE ROUTES SO THAT WE'RE HERE ... TRAPPED ... AT OUR DESTINATION ... BUT NOWHERE TO GO, SHIT, THIS IS HELL AND YOU ARE ALL DEMONS!"

I released my fart, on the demon mark ...

The plane was quieted ...

The dudes to my right and left went into their own fetal ball ...

I returned to my compressed torso-leg-shoulder-spine-bendy thingy ...

"This is the captain, we're going to be here a bit longer ... please, be kind to each other."

'Kindness' ...

(that passenger missed the flight)