April 28, 2001
Lufthansa and the Secret Torture Chamber

The torture chamber looked harmless at first. We were loaded in like cattle, single file. We dodged big, black bags overhead. We were squeezed into the hot, fake leather seats and strapped down. I looked over at the contorted bodies of my companions, their necks bent down, knees scrunched up into their chests, elbows wedged into their sides. It was noisy. It was crowded and stuffy. It was hell on wings.

"Well, at least I'm on the aisle, I thought to myself. I'll be able to stretch out one of these bad legs, anyway."

I couldn't have been more wrong. After the 5th prisoner in this torture-chamber-in-the-sky stumbled down the narrow aisle, kicked my foot, and sent me to excruciating places of pain only the Marquis de Sade could love, I pulled my long leg back in. Thus began my decent into a deeper hell, into another torturous gadget, another horrible, painful device. Attached to this seat from hell, was something maniacally called a "foot rest" only my ankle wouldn't bend in that position, so for me, it was called a "foot agony contraption." I was forced to keep my feet flat on the floor, which wouldn't have been so bad except the seat stopped short about a quarter of the way down my thighs. Sitting in this position eventually cut off all circulation to the lower half of my body. Oh I tried unstrapping myself several times, and I limped around the narrow passageway to find relief. I begged the warden-ess for a bulkhead seat. She offered me a cup of water instead, then pointed to the galley for me to go get it myself. The heartless bitch. And, sleep was impossible, even with the valium; and pain relief was just not happening, although I ingested substantial quantities of Vicodin for this purpose. All to no avail.

Desperate and crazed, and in pain induced rage and tears, I shook Shela out of her drugie slumber. "Help! I screamed. Get me a gun! Or cut my legs off, please! I'm dying here!"

"Only a couple of more hours, Nik" she said, sleepily, as she tried to lift my legs onto her lap and nodded off again.

God, was there no end to this torment? Would I ever get out of here? We left on the 27th and it was now the 28th, a day lost, and I was still on this hell ride in the sky. Please, God, let me off of this airplane, please, please, please. I prayed non-stop for that five hour layover in Munich.

In between my prayer frenzy, and while Shela and Terri were in the land of valium nod, I was thinking of ways to slowly kill the sadistic midget bastard who designed these airplane seats. I vowed to hang him up by his short and hairies someday.

Finally, after 12 hours, and what felt like a couple of blood clots later, my prayers were answered. It might have been a 5-hour layover in a godforsaken airport, but it was heaven to me. I was gonna enjoy it for a little while, and not think about the next two-hour flight to Florence.

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