I wrote this column a while ago. It seems to be everyone’s favorite. And although many years have gone by, the giant ass of my seatmate still remains a vivid frightening memory.
THE BIGGEST ASS
I flew to Chicago Monday on business. An associate met me at LaGuardia airport. We both commented at how old and dingy the American Airline terminal looked. Then he reminded me that this was the fifth anniversary of The Trip from Hell. We both remembered and we both can finally laugh about it.
It started in East Hampton. I was going to make a presentation for the advertising account of the British Virgin Islands on the island of Tortola.
I had to catch a plane for San Juan and connect to a flight to Tortola. I missed that flight and every other flight on that trip because the airline business is so totally screwed up. Since the flight to San Juan was at noon, I decided to leave East Hampton at 7 AM, giving myself plenty of time to catch my plane, or so I foolishly thought.
I arrived at the airport two and a half hours before my flight. I still had to run to get on my plane in time. The airport was filled with thousands of people trying to get their boarding passes all at the same time. Only five or six clerks were there to service thousands of passengers. Since most of the flights were overseas, one woman from American Airlines was just screaming, “You must have your passport ready.”
She screamed at a young man standing in front of me, “Do you have your passport ready?”
“But I’m going to San Francisco,” was his confused answer.
It took me one hour and 15 minutes to get a boarding pass, another 45 minutes at security, and then a dead run to my gate. So I was out of breath as I stumbled on board with my carry-on bags and I worked my way down the aisle looking for 24A, my window seat.
That’s when I spotted her. She was a woman in her early 30s. She was big. Very, very big. But it wasn’t her shoulders and breasts and waist that amazed me. It was her ass. Three quarters of her ass occupied seat 24B, but the other one quarter of her ass was on my seat, 24A.
She got out into the aisle so I could get into my seat.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her ass. Then she sat down and her ass was on my leg, my lap and hip. You must understand, I was trapped in my seat. Then I started to think, should I introduce myself? Should I comment on it? Should I say, “Miss, that’s one amazing big ass you have there. We’re going to be flying for three hours and 55 minutes and it’s clear I am going to be in constant contact with your ass, so let me tell you it is an amazing ass. It is the Godzilla of asses.”
My mind was racing. Should I ignore it? Should I try to synchronize my breathing with hers for maximum comfort? There was no way to bring down the armrest because her ass was in the way.
I fidgeted for five minutes under her ass and finally found my seat belt.
Now we were about to take off when the pilot announced that the plane had a mechanical problem and we would have to wait for another plane to be brought out to take us to San Juan. Just enough time to miss our connection to Tortola.
An hour and a half later I was on another plane with the same seatmate and the same ass. The flight was a nightmare. The woman, perfectly comfortable with the seating arrangement, spent the entire flight reaching into a Starbucks bag and eating cakes and buns. I was fearful that if her ass got any bigger I would be pushed out of the window and sucked out of the plane.
When we were a few minutes out of San Juan I realized that I had been married to the beautiful Judy Licht for 23 years and in all those years I hadn’t touched Judy’s cute butt for the sum total of time I was spending touching this stranger’s ass. The thought made me giggle uncontrollably and the woman stopped munching on cake to give me a dirty look.
When I got off the plane I realized that I had my Blackberry in my right-hand pocket, which her ass was perched on. I said a thankful prayer that I hadn’t received a message during the flight. My Blackberry vibrates when I get a message and if it had gone off and vibrated under her ass at any time during the flight I might be rotting in some San Juan jail. Or, if she liked it, my seatmate would have picked me up and carried me off in the same way King Kong carried off Fay Wray.
If you wish to comment on “Jerry’s Ink,” send your message to firstname.lastname@example.org.