Author: Joey Ciaramitaro

Last night was the Superbowl.  As I had a bunch of lobster boats fishing I ended up eating two heaping portions of Kate’s fantastic Shepherds Pie for dinner. Didn’t finish up at the dock til 7:45 PM and then headed over to watch the second half of the Superbowl at Sista Felicia’s.   Luckily I got to pound down some of Craig Kimberley’s outstanding smoked ribs and we all drank like fishes. All good or so I thought til this morning when the rumbling started in my tummy.   Some scary burps which almost regurgitated the most unholy mix of spicy hot apparently not wholly digested party grub. Luckily I didn’t puke on the ride into the airport because the smell of that puke would have undoubtedly ruined the car forever.
But about halfway into our ride I felt a real urgency to take a dump and release the kraken that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in my belly.
We make it to the airport and I get to the bathroom to take care of dump number one for some temporary relief.  The toilet paper in the stall was so thin it may as well have been transparent.  I’ll never understand what the people who are in charge of making the decision as to what toilet paper to purchase are thinking when they purchase such flimsy toilet paper.   Do they think we’re not going to double it over three or four times so we don’t end up wiping our arse and ending up with fingers full of shit?  It’s so beyond stupid because people probably end up using way MORE toilet paper to insure against potential breakage. Isn’t that counterintuitive to saving money for the airport because if you put good quality toilet paper in there you might only double it over twice instead of four times with the flimsy stuff.
Anyway,  I got some temporary relief after dump number one but all through the security check and on our way to the gate I was ripping some serious facts, scared to death there was going to be some semi digested shepherds pie soiling my underwear. Luckily that hasn’t been the case… yet.
So I get situated on the plane.  Middle row.  I never fly middle row,  always aisle.  Always! Except for this flight where were we got the last seats on the plane and The Rabbit,  Enrico Pallazzo and I are all scattered throughout the plane in middle seats.   The stewardess comes by and takes my drink order and wanting to hydrate after last night’s Superbowl drinking fest I order a cranberry juice and a water.
NOT A GOOD IDEA.
The big ogre of a guy sitting next to me in the precious aisle seat did this move I’d never seen before where he took off his hooded windbreaker and placed it over his face and draped the jacket down over the front of his body.  At first I thought he was just doing this so he could pass the flight looking at porn on his cellular device and was using the jacket to hide beneath so no one would see.  For a brief moment I was horrified that he might actually be jacking off under there but soon realized that he was sound asleep.  At first this made me feel better about the situation until the cranberry juice started gurgling up in my belly and I really needed that second dump. I couldn’t wake up the ogre and I couldn’t hop over him because there wasn’t enough room to pull off that maneuver. So here I sit patiently,  praying the ogre wakes up soon so I can lay a beating on the toilet on this plane.
Seriously,  have you ever seen this move on a plane?

Who does that? And how does he even breathe? Pray for me. Middle seat on the plane is the WORST when you’ve trapped.