A Copywriter’s Blog
Of Flights and Fat- Part 2 Ben Levy 27, August

Greetings and salutations, brave reader, and welcome to part two- Of Flights and Fat! If you can stomach the horror, you should read part one first.

When we’d left our doomed hero (me) I was utterly trapped between a scrawny girl who applied so much makeup a clown would have been shocked, and a woman who sat very much like a rhino.

That is to say dark, huge, and quietly menacing.

You can read about what happened before we even took off here. But this concerns what happened once we (amazingly to my mind) got into the air. You know the miracle of flight? I always saw it as more of a “wish”. It only became a miracle once we achieved altitude while hauling Tubby and the amazing Lardos.

You might remember that I mentioned a small child. I truly believed, upon first seeing it, that the child was intended as a snack. Up until now, it had been passed from one family member to another on the other side of the plane. Now? Now it was grandma’s turn.

The woman rested there, in much the same way the continents do on the surface of our planet, and proceeded to bounce the child up and down on her tremendous tissue-engorged bosom. I felt slightly nauseous, but that could have been the living doll next to me applying more rouge. I had nowhere to run. Clouds of blush to the left of me, babies and arm fat to the right. There I was, stuck in the middle with rage.

As angry as I was- both at this woman and at every pizza she’d ever eaten over the course of her life- it would take a complete asshole to say anything. Objectively, it’s a grandmother playing with her grandson. Realistically, it’s a walrus bouncing a harp seal on it’s blubber. And as you should be able to tell by now, I’m not a complete asshole. I’m a complete, passive-aggressive, asshole.

So I did the only thing I could. I resonated hate.

Humans have been able to resonate since the beginning of time. It’s a total embodiment of a single feeling, projected outward to those around you. It’s partly body language, partly pheromones, and partly psychic resonance. Many of us have forgotten how to do it, but it’s instinctual. Look at any mother with a newborn, and you see her resonate love. A father watching his son play sports, and you feel his pride.

Anger is the easiest thing to resonate of course, because people are wired to recognize it. It’s a self-preservation thing. If you attempt to embody love, the object of your affections may still miss it. Particularly if she’s watching sex and the city. But anger? Shit, your houseplants will figure that out. No problem.

And so I began to resonate scathing, rolling waves of negativity. Annoyance, disgust, and outright anger. I wasn’t doing anything besides sitting in a chair with my arms folded, but the call went out all the same. You know how Aquaman talked to fish? It was like that, only I was screaming at every human being at 30,000 feet in impotent rage. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the pilot and co-pilot turned to each other in the front of the plane, exchanged a glance, and said “Shit. Someone’s PISSED”.

It took about an hour. It’s possible that blubber is a natural insulator against psychic emanations. Maybe there was interference with the electronic instruments in the cockpit. Maybe the fact that I got a bag of peanuts distracted me for .5 seconds and I had to start over. Regardless, after one hour, three minutes, and 12 seconds, it was done. The behemoth passed back the child, swung the crane into place to heave her ponderous bulk out of the seat.

And lest you think this was going to happen anyway, that the bending of my entire will toward a single goal merely coincided with this event, I tell you this: As her son settled down next to me, a petite 250 lbs, he turned to me with an apologetic expression and said “sorry about that.”.

I breathed my first breathe of fresh air in over an hour, and seriously contemplated how long it would take me to walk back to New York once I canceled my return flight.

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