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the dueling fiddlers:

I Never Fart On Airplanes

Posted on March 13, 2011 with 0 comments

I never FART on airplanes.... but just this one time I thought, hmmmm, maybe I'd try it. So I did.  A short story, written by Adam DeGraff, just for TDF's friends and fans.


So, as you probably know, I play the violin. Rock violin to be exact. I travel.... A LOT. Too much actually, but that's another story. Last night I played a swanky gig with Jim Caruso at the Magic Castle in LA. I wore a coat and a tie.... something I never, EVER, do. But that's the rules at the castle and, honestly, it's such a cool place, I didn't mind. It was a good show.


I woke up early this morning to catch my flight out of town. Headed to New Mexico for my next show. Anyway, I was feeling good because I was flying Southwest airlines, which I love. Everything was going well. I got to the airport with time to spare.  My bags  weighed in just under 50 pounds each. My boarding number was A19, so my fiddle was sure to find an open overhead. On top of that, the flight was only half full, so I was going to enjoy some wiggle room. I do love an empty row!


I picked a nice window seat in row 7. I snuggled up against the window and relaxed, using my soft leather jacket as a pillow. The flow of passengers slowed to just one. My isle seat was not the most attractive seat remaining (there were still a dozen empty rows behind me) but the last passenger to board the plane wanted to sit in row 7 too. My row. MY SIDE?!! She put some stuff on the middle seat and then asked, in broken English, if it was ok. Honestly, I was a little sad to loose my empty row, but really, it was ok. I didn't really need the aisle  seat. I was a little bit surprised though when, after arranging her stuff, she sat RIGHT NEXT TO ME. She took the middle seat. What? Why? My mind raced. Maybe she was traveling with somebody else that was going to take the aisle seat? Nope. It was just her. She bumped my arm when she sat down. She was overly apologetic. Her bags were on her lap and overflowed onto me.  Again, she apologized. I consolidated my stuff on the window side, she followed suit and put her stuff on the empty isle seat. (That empty seat does come in handy.)


So, ok, I started to feel cheated. I COULD ask her to move. I could get up and move myself, but I was cozy, she was fully settled in, and, as I was contemplating my options, despite her very strong smelling, unappealing to me perfume, I found her large, soft body strangely comfortable. She was sweet, soft, of a culture different from mine, and now, she was partially in my seat. Actually, a lot of her was in my seat. When I reached in my pocket to turn off my phone, my elbow couldn't help but rub deeply into her side. She politely leaned away to give me the room I needed to complete my task. She even looked towards the empty isle seat. I thought she would surely move. She did... right back on top of me. 


Now I want to be clear, my co-seat mate is not hitting on me, or really paying me any attention whatsoever. In fact, I have my elbow resting comfortably on her as I am typing this into my iPhone.


So, we taxi, take of, and continue our little cuddle. And I started to think, THIS is a cultural thing. She had all these empty seats to choose from, all these empty rows, and the logical choice to her was to be close to somebody. Very close. At first, I tried to make room for her, squinching myself tight against the window. But then, I figured that since this was her choice, I'd roll with it. So I spread out. My knee leaned deeply into her thigh. My arm was ensconced in her purple sweater and the softness beneath. I breathed in her perfume, which I still didn't really like, but I came to accept. Her curly hair was thick and shiny, dripping with product, and when she leaned over me to look out the window, it got on my hand... just a little bit. We were all mashed up and hell if there was anything I could do about it. I accepted it in every way I could. I leaned into her. I breathed her in. I enjoyed her softness. Then... I felt like I had to fart. 


I never fart on airplanes. It's just one of my things. I don't love when other people do it, but ya know, it's natural, and I can live with it. But I was in this mood of acceptance. And I was smelling my co-seat mate. So I figured, I would try something new.  If she wanted to really share my space, as I was sharing hers, I would give her all of me. 


So I farted. It was silent, but I'm not gunna lie, it smelled. Bad. And you know what? It didn't seem to bother her at all. Oh... she smelled it. But I think she felt honored, and I know it brought us closer.