It's all about the Overhead

Living on planes. Working on planes. I mean literally.
When you have attendants who not only recognize you but call you by name, well, I don't even know what to say about that, except I personally don't ask theirs...I don't need anymore friends, or acquaintances or people who are supposed to help me with air safety knowing my personal shit.
I'm also not a plane talker. I have my trash magazines (I don't get Life and Style or Star that's too trashy) but if it's a new Entertainment Weekly i'm in hot topic heaven. And O.K. i'll pick up the new O.K. but only because...fuck it...can't think of a good excuse.
Anyway, if I don't have work to catch up on it's all about the celebrity and entertainment magazines, so when Joe Big Butt with his white athletic socks, pulled allll the way up to his knee's and his orthopedic gym shoes and medium size 'Maui Wowee Tee Shirt' on his xxxxl size frame, asks to get by (i'm always, I mean ALWAYS, on the aisle) and then falls into his seat from a standing position and says, 'Howzitgoin'?" I'm hard pressed to come up with a decent answer.
I want to say, well, actually I don't want to say anything. I want to ignore him. But then I'm the ass-hole and if I've learned nothing else from my passive aggressive Southern friends I've learned that it doesn't hurt to respond, just be careful how you respond.
So I sigh, a little more loudly then I need to, make sure I'm making an exaggerated point of saving my place so I can safely get back to whether or not Mel Gibson's mistress is pregnant, look at Joe B.B. and say, 'Good.'
Now the old copywriter in me always inwardly laughs when I hear or say 'good'..you see good has no definition, it really doesn't mean anything...there's no qualifier in 'good'. There's no nothing in good. It's safe. It's non-committal and more importantly, it is not followed with another question from myself, like, 'you?', 'howyoudoin?', or 'sup?'
Nope, not a plane talker. Don't want to know you. Don't want to get to know you. Don't care if you know me.
Now I'm sure Ive missed many an opportunity to network, to make new business connections, or even to have the occasional affair, but I'm willing to risk it to be able to read all about Christian Bale and his on-set blow up in peace and to it's conclusion.
I'm usually (always) in First Class (2 million miles and growing) and thankfully most of my other seatmates are pretty much of the same mind, so the situation I describe above usually only happens when some once a year traveler bought a first class ticket outright (imagine) and he or she is not used to the real first class etiquette. No elitism, no snobbery...really!
First of all, it's all about the overhead space, because no one in first class checks luggage. So when Joe B.B. comes along, of course he's got what should have been checked luggage with him. I came with a one-suiter and my office in a bag, he comes with a steamer trunk. And because my one-suiter is flat and not taking up much vertical space, Joe B.B. feels absolutely no guilt at all about putting his huge suitcase on top of my one-suiter.
Now of course, this disrupts my reading because I see him coming and I know exactly what he's going to do. So, as he begins to hoist his Macy's special, 'one day only' sale luggage on top of mine, I jump up and yell, 'Wait!"
This usually will cause Joe B.B. to throw his back out because he was mid-hoist with a 40 pound bag.
"Let me take my ONE-SUITER out so you can put your trunk in and then I'll put my ONE-SUITER on top of your bag. I don't think the weight of my ONE-SUITER will hurt anything in your bag."
"Oh, o.k." My god do certain people not have a logic gene or what. Or they just don't quite think things through. It's like those dog-walkers who let their dogs come up on your lawn and poo and pee. Do they think our lawns are any different then theirs, impervious to ammonia and whatever other acids run through a dog's system? But that's another story
So my suits free now from wrinkles, I've settled back into my story on Jen Aniston and sure as shit, here comes Mr. 13F, loaded down and heading aft when he sights another vertical space in first class overhead and figures, 'hell, there won't be any room back there where the immigrants are...i'll put my bag here in first class on top of this ONE SUITER'.
Of course, the attendant who knows my name, says nothing. The other first class passenger didn't notice his one-suiter is being smashed in 1 million little wrinkles and I'm steaming...it just seems so unfair.
So, I poke the guy next to me. He gives a very dramatic sigh and exaggerates saving his place in him magazine and looks at me.
'Hey, guy back in Coach just put his suitcase on top of your one-suiter'.
'Yeah? Fuck that.' And he pushes the call button.
Hey, I think i just made a new friend in first class.