VAST HELL

The air being held hostage in my lungs is tightening the passage-ways leading to my mouth, dried in agony. My feet, one tripping over the other, and hopefully still in tact with flimsy legs, enter the carousel-like glass doors. Envious of the inert rectangular luggage I drag behind me, I make my way to the intimidating check-in counter to receive my boarding pass. I do not understand how this lady behind the desk is able to wear both a name tag proudly declaring herself a Delta airlines employee, and a too-big-to-be-real smile, simultaneously. Does she not understand that she is a ticket vendor for the passengers, dressed in cheap nylon, permitting me to enter the gates of a vast hell?
"Enjoy your flight", yeah right.
This lady is evil, sitting comfortably behind her computer all day, as innocent people like me get sandwiched between two big, smelly men on a claustrophobic plane. I bet that everybody working at the airport is in on this. Even the guy working security grins because he knows about this evil agenda. The floors were definitely just waxed only because the janitors at Laguardia know that the shinier the tiles, the more nervous I start to feel. I pass the food court mixed with too many different aromas, which now that I think about it, was probably put there so I can get just a bit more nauseas before I reach the gate. At the gate, everybody is waiting in their seats, reading the newspaper, drinking coffee, resting their eyes, and just pretending to be normal with absolutely nothing to do with any evil plans that I speak of.
The plane is begining to board, so I take baby steps down the terminal. The disgusting smell of airplane fuel from underneath, airplane air conditioning, and morning breakfast, all hit me like a ton of bricks. It's unbearable. 26 A, I take my seat, but must stand up several times due to the seat assignments of B and C. Oh wait, 26 B realizes he misread his ticket just as I found myself to be comfortable. Now the real 26 B comes and without regaurd, steals the entire armrest which was meant to be shared.
26 B is passed out and the snoring is growing louder by the seconds, and his head is continuing to tilt lower and lower towards me. By the time we're airbourne he is completely ontop of my left side, and the warm mist of breakfast burrito consumes any fresh air I am entitled to. My eyes will not stop swelling up, only four more hours. I need to get off. Now.
I wake up with two and a half hours left of the flight, and undisturbed I find 26B now leaning on 26 C. Maybe flying isn't so bad at all. I raise the volume on my ipod and begin to breathe easy.
BAM. The drink cart almost took off my arm.