A Cross-Atlantic Flight/Zeke

If you were able to suffer through Rich’s preliminary thoughts, you'll have noticed that – as part of an early effort to assert dominance over the group – he claimed that I will “inevitably” refuse to write anything for the blog. This is an absurd claim, and I will not stand for such nonsense. In the hopes of quelling such outright balderdash, I've put together a post detailing what I envision will occur on our cross-Atlantic flight:

With a series of thunderous forward plods, Rich will enter the cabin and begin chatting with one of the stewardesses, but will be interrupted by a phone call from his mother reminding him to take his Dramamine, “and please for the love of god don’t soil your Depends in public again.”

After settling into his aisle seat, Evan will stretch his bum leg out, obstinately refusing to move despite the requests of travelers eager to make it to their seats.

Eventually obstructing the path of the beverage cart, Evan’s inconveniently-placed leg will first set off a series of social imbroglios, including but not limited to: the spillage of Diet Sierra Mist all over his chambray shirt, a tense standoff with a swarm of chin-strapped hardbodies, and uncomfortable eye contact with a man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and “sporting a Henman.”

Performing his best Jon Taffer impression, Zeke will loudly rack his brain trying to find a concept for better leg room, simultaneously annoying the man in front of him and bringing himself immense delight.

Tirrill, asked by a stewardess whether he would like “another pack of pretzels,” will become sensitive and angrily chastise her for making fun of his weight. “It’s muscle!” he will yell, causing the hardbody contingent to suddenly perk up.

Confident in his ability to speak fluent lax, Zeke will ask the nearby fellow (who, incidentally, sports some pretty sick lettuce) whether he brought his “ladle” on his trip. This fellow, having actually never played lax before in his life, will pretend to ignore the crazy person who just asked him a question about his kitchen – undeterred, Zeke will continue muttering incomprehensible sentences until realizing the fellow is no longer listening, at which point Zeke will disengage and beginning humming a nondescript tune to himself.

Somewhat sleep-deprived, Evan will occasionally report on what he sees happening outside on the wing of the plane. “The business of ferrets has just signed a peace contract with their immediate neighbors, but as history has proven, such agreements are often untenable,” he will gravely state.

Rich, worn out from carrying his five pieces of luggage to the airport, will fall asleep in his seat, his big ol’ heavy head drooping to unforeseen depths and a few tummy rolls emerging from underneath his blue v-neck shirt.

Commencing what he mysteriously refers to as “Operation Blobfish,” Zeke will take the opportunity to snap a picture of Rich.

With a loud chorus of creaks, groans, and belly-pats, Tirrill and every middle-aged father will rise from their seats to stand idly in the aisle as soon as the captain has turned off the “fasten seatbelt” sign.

Evan, busy sleeping with his hands on his face, will not realize that his leg has somehow found its way into a traumatized grandma’s lap across the aisle.

Zeke will “inevitably” ask the stewardess for some light reading, a request she will fulfill by handing him a small pamphlet on “Jewish Sports Heroes” – pleased that reality has played out exactly like the scene in Airplane, he will turn with a big dumb grin to Rich, whose predictably blank face will remind Zeke that the big ginger has seen four movies in his life (Jumanji, The Shawshank Redemption, Space Jam, and Dr. Zhivago).

Having gotten over the perceived ribbing by the stewardess, Tirrill will ask her whether they “are serving ice cream on this flight.”

Overcome with grief upon hearing her answer, Tirrill will throw a temper tantrum. A hardbody will attempt to calm him down – a kerfuffle ensues.

At least once, Zeke and Evan will imitate Craster from Game of Thrones – on an unrelated note, three nearby travelers will request seat changes. 

Becoming irritated with his current sleeping arrangement, Evan will fold his mantis-like limbs in such a way as to shift locale into one of the overhead compartments. 

Sensing that one of her travelers is grumpy, a stewardess will kindly offer Tirrill the opportunity to explore the cockpit, an offer to which he’ll energetically respond in the affirmative, quickly bounding his way up to the front of the plane.

Feeling the sudden onslaught of FOMO, Rich will ask another stewardess whether he may join Tirrill in the cockpit – when she tells him “no,” he becomes pouty and restless.

The plane will touch down, and despite warnings that “belongings may have shifted during flight,” the traumatized grandma will open the overhead compartment and witness a pale creature contortioned up where her bag should be – stricken by the sight, she will suffer what appears to be a heart attack.

Seizing the opportunity to offer unsolicited advice, Rich will consult his travel-sized law book (Ballantine’s 7^th edition of Law Problems and Solutions) before suggesting that everyone “calm down and remember the precedent set by Kansas v. Goldsteinfarb.”

Tirrill, cutting through Rich’s legalese, will use his lifeguard training to revive the grandma. Meanwhile, Evan stirs to consciousness as well.

Already feeling sentimental, Rich will request the entirety of the plane take a group photo. Later he will begin writing his next blog post: “Gosh guys, sometimes life can be pretty crazy…”