Training session all day yesterday. Yippee! (You guessed that was sarcasm, I hope.) The company I work for is implementing a new accounting system. Since I do a few related tasks, I was sent to this session. Basically, they have taken the old system, made it much more complicated and detailed, and made everything backwards from what it was. That would not be so bad, but there are enough exceptions to the ‘just do it backwards’ game, that it can’t become the rule. Joy.

If there are any accountants out there, I would like to say that I mean no disrespect when I say this, but holy cow…. Do you people just live to make other people’s lives hell? We know you’re anal. Is it your greatest wish that we become that way too? I took enough accounting in school to know that anal is a good trait for an accountant. But really, why is it that you insist on making the rest of the world conform to your idea of a utopian society? I don’t care if you think that toilet paper is a fixed cost, and Kleenex is a variable cost. It wouldn’t bother me in the least to code a pen to the pencil center.

To be frank, I just may do that on purpose for a little while, just to make your anal asses twist in their panties. You have fun in your way, I’ll have fun in mine.

Katress has an interesting question in her journal this morning. It’s about the whole Southwest Airlines policy of charging large customers for two seats on a flight if they use up more than the given eighteen and a half inches of ass space.

I’m a ‘person of size’, ‘zatfig’, ‘plump’. Use whatever euphemism you wish. I’m fat. I’m not afraid or ashamed to use that word. It’s a fact, and it’s the easiest one to type. I’ve lost a good amount of weight, but at this point, if I were to fly, there is a solid chance that my ass would need more than eighteen inches.

The premise behind this is that we fat people make the thin people uncomfortable because we take up more than our fair share of room. So, we should have to pay for that extra room. I’m not going to talk about that. I’m going to talk about the uncomfortable part. How uncomfortable those thin people think they are. What discomfort in a plane is really about.

I fly for business purposes a lot. I dread it every single time. Let me tell you something…. It takes a tremendous amount of courage for a fat person to get on an airplane. I’ll walk you through it here….

First off, you check in, and ask for either a window seat, so that you can squish yourself up against the side of the plane, or an aisle seat, in order that you get lean into the open space beside you. This is not done for the fat person’s comfort level. This is done so that we don’t infringe on anyone else. Pushing up against the cold wall, or leaning over in a back-breaking manner is not comfortable. But we, the fat folk, would rather hurt both physically and emotionally than take up more space then we feel we are allowed.

Then, through security, which isn’t an issue. Then, you get to your gate, where the only thing you are thinking is that every single person that is waiting at the same gate is hoping they don’t have the seat next to you. There’s a great thing for the positive attitude, huh?

The whole time you are at the gate, you are praying that when you have to ask for a belt extender, you get a nice attendant who will make it easy on you. Not all of them do.

Onto the plane you go. Trying very hard not to look at all of the relieved faces as you pass their aisles. You get to your seat, and hope that there is no one else there yet, because you wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone by having them move for you, the fat person.

Then, as the stewardess passes, you motion for her and speak as quietly as possible, asking for the dreaded extender. If you are lucky, which is rare, he or she will bring it to you in a hidden manner, so that not everyone will see what you have requested. If you aren’t so lucky, as is mostly the case, he or she will walk back down the aisle, as much as swinging it over their head, to make sure that everyone knows you are too fat to have the belt fit.

Then, you will spend the rest of the flight as motionless as possible. Again, we wouldn’t want to take up more space than we already are. You will not have a beverage. You will not read. You will just stare into space, wondering how much longer you can stand the pain of the armrest digging into you. Or the ache in your back as you lean into the aisle to make sure that the person next to you is not having to touch any of your revolting fat.

This is how you will spend your flight. I hope for your sake, that it’s a short one.

I am not ashamed of who I am. Not anymore. I spent altogether too many years not living my life because I was fat, choosing instead to hide in the shadows of the world and praying that I would go unnoticed. I choose to live my life just as largely as I deserve to.

Every time I get onto a plane, I turn into that scared fat girl again. So damned ashamed of who I am, and what I look like.

Now, you tell me…..

Who’s uncomfortable?

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