Monkeys Wearing Pants Read Online Free PDF

regular
lanes, we need a lane designated "really old men wearing hats with
the blinker still on."
    Because I've been flying so much for work,
I've been elevated in the airlines’ caste system from a guy for
whom an upgrade was pretty much untouchable to a guy who maybe gets
a bump up to first class every three or four flights. That little
taste of seventh heaven has really soured me on the cattle car that
exists behind the magic curtain. It's not the snob appeal. It's not
the somewhat superior food or drink. It's not even the fact that I
can get out of the plane 10 seconds after they open the door. No,
it's really all about the first-class seat.
    Back in coach, the section 8 airline housing
for the 98%, some sadist determined that three across seating on
either side of the plane with an aisle just wide enough for a
fashion model on meth to shimmy through would work out just fine.
It hasn't. The three-across seating method makes for a lose-lose
flying experience. Let's examine each seat so that I may prove my
point.
    The window seat: There are some positive
things that come with the window seat. Not surprisingly, having a
window is one of them. But if you fly a lot, the magic of imagining
cumulus clouds as big puffs of cotton and little miniature
buildings and cars as, well, little miniature buildings and cars
soon wears off. Whenever there is actually something of note to
look at (cue your captain telling you to look out the right side of
the aircraft to see some mountain, a lake, or the lights of
Winnemucca, NV), the person in the middle seat is going to lean
over and crane their head to and fro so that they, too, can see
whatever wonderfulness is out there. If the exact, questionable
scenario were happening in a parked car and a cop went by, you
would get a quick burst of white light, a couple seconds of
flashing lights and sirens, and a deep voice coming over the PA
speaker telling you to 'move along'. The window seat also requires
that you have a bladder the size of an ostrich egg, because when
the window seat person needs to get up and go, aisle and
middle-seat folks need to dislodge and shuffle over and out like
guests on a late-night talk show. Finally, if a Canadian goose
makes a wrong turn and become mock foie gras after getting sucked
into an engine, you'll be among the first to know and will have a
front-row seat to impending disaster. I don't want to be the
messenger on that one.
    The middle seat: Much like the Susan B.
Anthony dollar, the middle seat has virtually no redeeming
features. Unless you are a rail-thin contortionist and can fold
your shoulders like your expensive headphones, inward and flat
against your body, you are going to be uncomfortable. Murphy's Law
of the middle seat states that the probability is high you will
have a sumo wrestler on one side of you and a big 'ol hillbilly
(softly humming ”Dueling Banjos” under his breath) on the other.
There's nothing worse than spending three hours between the
proverbial rock and hard place, unable to exhale fully while your
arms are folded high and tight across your chest like an extremely
disappointed hall monitor.
    The aisle seat: The aisle seat is still my
seat of choice despite its many shortcomings. The upside is that I
can stand up in the aisle without having to do the funky chicken
slide and scoot when coming from the window seat. The down side is
really all about that winning hypothesis which states two solid
objects can't occupy the same space. My shoulders are wider than
the actual seat, meaning there is always a part of me hanging out
there in the aisle that the airline has deemed as fair game. If I
had a quarter for every time my shoulder or elbow has been clipped
by the corner of the stainless steel beverage cart, I could afford
to buy my own upgrades for life. But the worst thing about the
aisle seat is when two people going in opposite directions decide
to pass each other in the aisle in your general vicinity. What is
almost physically