Currently listening to: Creep – Radiohead
When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so fucking special
After my shift, I made my way straight to LAX, exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin. I had barely scraped together three hours of sleep the night before, so I was running on fumes. As I stood in the terminal, I debated whether to unwind in the Centurion Lounge—where I could sink into a plush chair and pretend I was a person of leisure—or to find a spot in the airport where my friends could easily locate me. Convenience won.
To keep myself functioning, I grabbed a tall Americano with cream, hoping it would at least trick my body into wakefulness. The caffeine worked just enough to keep me upright, but not enough to prevent me from making a regrettable mistake: because I wasn’t glued to the gate, I missed the bid and upgrade call for seats. Economy it is.
As I glanced at the seat chart, I noticed something… strange. The middle seat next to me was occupied, while the aisle seat remained open. Who in their right mind chooses to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with a stranger when there’s a perfectly good escape route available? What kind of psycho enjoys voluntary claustrophobia? I braced myself for the inevitable discomfort.
We all grabbed our seats, my seatmate turned to me and said, “I’ll move over once it’s confirmed that no one is assigned to the aisle seat.”
I reassured her that it was open, but for some reason, she needed the airline’s official blessing before making her move. Eventually, she slid over, granting me the sweet relief of extra space. Not quite premium, definitely not upper class, but at least I could breathe. And honestly, I wasn’t about to shell out a grand for an upgrade anyway to upper class.
We all sat scattered around the plane, I was the only one in economy, the rest of my friends were seated in either in premium or upper class.
Once on board, the flight attendants handed out snacks—a corn nut situation and a cup of apple juice. At that moment, I fully embraced my inner child, sipping away like I was on a kindergarten field trip.
spoiler alert
To pass the time, I started watching The Substance—which turned out to be a very fucking weird. Demi Moore looked incredible, almost eerily so, and it immediately made me to think about my friends and our forever-21 mentality. The movie was unsettling, a warped take on beauty and preservation, but I couldn’t look away. It was like watching a train wreck that I had to see. Would I go to those lengths to stay young? No. But did it make me think? Absolutely. The ending, though… I could’ve done without. The whole grotesque, melting-monster thing dying while still believing she was a star? Unhinged.
Dinner rolled around—a surprisingly generous spread of veggie pasta, salad, cheese and crackers, chocolate pudding, and warm bread with butter. It had been a while since I’d flown internationally, and I had forgotten how much food they actually give you on these flights.
This was my first time flying Virgin Atlantic, but so far, I was content with their service. It was better than the domestic airlines that I’ve taken, but I still prefer Korean Air or Asiana when it comes to traveling abroad.
I kept my eye on the map, watching our flight path stretch across the screen. Hello, Canada friends! I thought as we cruised overhead.
The Dramamine was working its magic, pulling me into sleep before I could overthink the hours left ahead. But when the turbulence hit, jolting me awake, I quickly popped another one. There was no way I was riding this storm sober and face severe motion sickness. As the pill kicked in, I let the cabin hum lull me back into oblivion.
London was waiting. But for now, sleep was the only thing on my itinerary as this was a ten hour flight.
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