Even in Death: Armrest Protocol and Lice Concerns

 I am not a big fan of Florida. Sure, over the years our family has spent plenty of time in Orlando, eating breakfast with Mickey, standing in lines and me experiencing queasiness after nearly every single ride.   (I had yet to discover the merits of Sea Bands) 

But my dislike for the state is based on two things: the heat and the politics.  The heat is understandable.  Either you embrace it or look at vacation options in Canada, Scandinavia or in my case, Ireland, where a warm sweater is a must, even in July. But the politics is something else.  After two glasses of Cabernet one evening (I’m clearly a cheap date), I pronounced that I would not enter Florida until the current Governor was gone. The next morning, with the Cabernet out of my system, I hoped that he had left office before my grandchildren were old enough to want to have breakfast with Mickey.  

Even with my proclamation, when we heard that my dear great uncle had passed away this week, Bob and I, without hesitation, made plans to head to the Sunshine State for the funeral.  

As anyone can guess, few airplane seating options were open with such short notice and the only available seats were in the middle of the row. It’s been a long time since I sat in one of those seats and I was immediately reminded that other than a last-minute reservation such as ours, there is absolutely nothing positive about this seating choice. It was cramped and I was uncertain about “armrest protocol.” Could I use both (due to the cramped conditions) or were both available to me because I got the short-end of the seating arrangement? For half the trip, I chose not to use either and today, the outside of my elbows are killing me.  

Bob had the middle seat behind me and I would occasionally hear his voice coming from in my ear, asking important questions like, “Do you have a pen”?  I did. And, “I don’t have my earphones. Do you have yours?” I did. I was sitting with two strangers and here is where my problem started.  All I wanted to do was read my hardcover book so that I could bring it back to the library before we went on vacation in a week, so that I will have to bring with me only paperbacks and Kindle books. (Tune in for blogs in a week from Northern Greece!) 

The woman in the aisle seat was perfectly fine and spent the whole trip watching golf and old episodes of Charlie Rose, which I thought it was an interesting combination of entertainment. The young man in the window seat seemed friendly enough as he vaulted over both of us to get to his seat. But as soon as he sat down, he started to scratch his head and continued to do so through the entire trip.  This completely unnerved me as I have a terrible fear of lice.  I have never had them nor have my children but the whole idea of the special shampoo and the lice comb completely freaks me out.  My angst only increased because I had no idea how close you have to be to a person for the lice to make residence in your hair and couldn’t Google it because my phone was on Airplane Mode and I had no internet access.  I decided to lean my head as close to the Charlie Rose golf lover until I thought she might think I was either making a pass at her or just minutes away from falling asleep on her shoulder.  By the second hour, I was so unnerved that I thought I should ask the young man about his itching —I couldn’t take it much longer.  When we got in the rental car, I told Bob about my situation and I said, “Should I have said something to him? Do you think he would have thought I was crazy?” His response was brief and to the point: “No and yes.”

I am happy to report, at least for now, there are no signs of the lice. As there is internet in the hotel, I am now going to Google how long I have to have Bob continue to check my head.


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