The good news is rushing to catch your flight and making it, just in time. The bad news is finding yourself in the middle seat. It gets worse. That big man coming down the aisle? He’s coming for you.
What is wrong with fat people? Do they lack so much self-control that they just become remorseless eating machines? I’m struggling to type this because I am stuck in economy class on board a two-hour flight to Cape Town, wedged between two Obelixes.
Fat Man A is reading a newspaper – not a tabloid-size one… a broadsheet spread. Fat Man B had dozed off before we even started to taxi, and his fat banana-shaped fingers keep unlocking over his barrel-shaped belly, resulting in his podgy left arm slipping every two or so minutes and bumping into me.
The sleeping beauty has now begun to snore; his chin has dropped down and his bottom lip has started to gather his spittle, as he makes his way through a nice meat pie in dreamland. My lower ribs are being crushed into the arm of my seat and the flight attendant just made some comment about how they welcome us on board and hope we have a comfortable flight. Nice.
The food trolley is coming. What’s the bet he wakes up as soon as he smells something edible? Wait… Yes! As predicted, he has arisen from his slumber to take the beef, with a Diet Coke. I refuse to eat. I feel sick. I am so uncomfortable I am now thinking of causing trouble on the plane just so I can be cuffed and taken to the back.
Why should I be made to suffer such discomfort when I pay the same price they do for a quarter of the space? I think someone who has lots of money should sue the airlines and force them to have fat flights: they could have benches instead of chairs, serve ice cream, and charge the passengers double.
How can these massive people fool themselves into thinking they can squeeze their gigantic, purulent arses into a small economy-class seat? Stop eating or book yourself into business class, like I do when I have lots of luggage.
Speaking of luggage, why do I pay a fine for “excess baggage”, but chubby here weighs as much as four concrete bollards and two packed suitcases and pays the normal fare? It is a crime. Don’t give me that nonsense about human rights and all people being equal, because I could fit into this man twice and he’d still squeeze in a Happy Meal.
Fat Man B’s featureless bottom of a face is now tilting to the left, probably because his bloated head has become heavy – either that or his neck rolls have moved. The only part of his face that has not expanded to accommodate adipose tissue is the area around his temples. Otherwise, he looks like a cartoon character, except he isn’t making me laugh. As soon as he has demolished his beef sandwich, he is off to sleep again. His snoring has now become regular – and nice and loud. He has also decided that it’s no longer worth pretending to keep his pigs’ trotters clasped over his mammoth frame, and has just let his arms slump all the way over me. They are hot and moist and are making me feel worse.
I’ve sat next to screaming babies, people who sneeze their filthy germs all over the cabin, old ladies who stink of wee, and even a woman in the US who made her own sardine sandwiches on her tray table between New York and Los Angeles, but I have never been so uncomfortable with the state of humanity.
You are what you eat, and I give fat people a hard time because I don’t want to lose a listener, and the fat ones are at greatest risk. We all know that obesity is one of the leading causes of death, and we are all responsible for our own health.
I just had a thought: if they want to put graphic pictures of diseased lungs and corroded hearts on cigarette packs to frighten people who smoke too much, shouldn’t they put a picture of Khulubuse Zuma on every box of doughnuts? At least they’d be consistent. - Saturday Star
l Gareth Cliff, 5Fm presenter, has just written a book, Gareth Cliff on Everything (Jonathan Ball), which has a recommended retail price of R185.