Cabin fever

If my trip to Paris was a dream, then the voyage home was a nightmare. My sister had given me explicit instructions on how to get reimbursed for the European taxes I was charged during my short but expensive shopping spree. I was only too happy to jump through whatever hoops necessary to get my tax dollars back. After all, why should I pay for Europeans to have health care when I don't pay for my own?

I get to Air France only to learn that there are no more seats in Business class- fine. There are no more window seats- fine. I get my boarding pass and an aisle seat assignment and head to the booth marked "Detax." The angry French man tells me that I have to produce the goods I purchased to get my refund. Merde! I just checked my bags. I go back and the Air France people attempt to retreive my bag but no go. Defeated, I head towards my gate to board. That's when I realized the "detax" was the least of my worries.

I make it to my row and stare in disbelief at what fate and the Air France personnel have conspired to do. I have a middle seat in a row that does not recline, next to a cluster of lavatories. Dear God. I look at the guy sitting in the window seat, "They've got to be kidding."

He laughs. "I know. They screwed me, too," he says in a Texas accent. He's big and burly and looks very out of place on a flight from Paris to New York. I call the head purser, "This won't do. In fact, I can't believe you don't warn people before you assign them this seat."

The flight attendant looks confused.

"I'm in a middle seat in a row that doesn't recline on an 8 hour flight- that's unacceptable."

"But mademoiselle, the flight is full and you're boarding card says you were the 238th person to check in." How does she know that? I take the boarding card and look at it, so that's what that number means.

"You can't seriously expect someone to sit confined in an upright position for 8 hours. I mean, unless, I got my ticket at a reduced rate because of the horrible seat I was in or if I was stand-by. I'll take the next flight but I won't- I can't sit here." I know I was being a bitch but whatever- the French are always bitchy and this was a travesty of something. I know airline comfort is an oxymoron but this was-

"I have spoken to the Captain and he says you may disembark but you must do so quickly."

"What about my bags?"

"We cannot guarantee when they will arrive," she replied matter-of-factly as if I had just asked if we were having fish or chicken for dinner. So faced with the option of parting with my bags for an indefinite period of time and languishing at the Charled de Gaulle airport for even longer, I opted to take my seat.

"I'm glad you gave them Hell," said the Burly Texan who did turn out to be from Austin and was travelling on business as he did private security work for dignitaries.

Now my whole back is knotted like a pretzel and I can't afford a desperately needed massage.

***As I had feared, random people are reading my blog now. People I don't know who live in strange places. Fine. I'm a blogger, I guess. But they're leaving dumb comments like, "Who is Josephine Baker?" You're online, jackass, GOOGLE her!