Adventures with Kleenex Hand

Hello all (yes, that means you, dear fan)! Greetings from the fun and exciting Richmond, Virginia, from where I am writing this next thrilling installment of ... The Blog That No One Reads! So, I know what you are all thinking ... why on earth would anyone travel to Richmond?? Hmmm, good question. Well, my brother is graduating from grad school with an EMBA and good sister that I am, I decided to attend (even though he never reads this blog). He's in NC, but my sisters live in Richmond, so two birds, one stone - you get the idea.

Anyway, the Air France route was a pretty good one. Beirut to Paris was a breeze, then a two hour layover at Charles de Gualle went by really fast. Then it was time for the long haul stretch from Paris to Washington DC. I boarded the plane and took my seat and saw that I was sitting next to a guy from some French-speaking African country. I said a friendly 'bonjour', unloaded my stuff, took out my book and iPod, put on my seat belt, and leaned back to get comfortable and started to read. La di dah, everything was fine ...


Then I hear a loud blowing noise and I turned and caught the guy next to me blowing his nose WITH HIS HAND. And then - as if that wasn't bad enough - he began to flick the 'stuff' off with his finger. I have never been so disgusted in my life. Seriously, I am not exaggerating, and I once had to sit next to someone who stank like sweaty feet. This was worse. By far. And the guy was not embarrassed or at all shy about what he was doing; it was like it was normal or something! WHO DOES THAT??

So, then I was in a dilemma. Do I ask the flight attendant to change my seat and risk everyone in the cabin think I'm a racist who does not want to sit next to a black man, or do I sit for seven and half hours next to a guy who uses his hand like a kleenex? I thought about it and thought about it, but every time I turned to look at the guy, I couldn't get the image of what he had done out of my head. I thought about meal time - would I be able to eat anything? What if he did it again while I was eating? Okay, that did it.

The flight attendant came around and I said that I didn't want to sit in the front row because there was no room for me to stow my bag and I didn't want to put it in the overhead compartment. He looked at me surprised and said, "But you have so much room here? You won't have as much space in another seat." I said that was okay, I just wanted to have my bag with me at all times. He gave me a quizzical facial expression that could've meant a) this chick must have diamonds or something in that bag; or b) this racist chick ain't foolin' nobody.

I switched seats and who could blame me? And that, dear reader, is how my adventure with Kleenex Hand came to a thankful, blessed end!!