One of the most frightening experiences of my life was on a crowded flight sitting in the back one-third of a plane that held roughly 120 people. I was at my full-figured zenith and had taken an aisle seat.
The plane was almost boarded and then a young man came through the first class portal and started maneuvering his way down the aisle.
The fellow was of such height and girth that he could have been Bryant McKinnie, other than that he was of the Caucasian persuasion.
As the man passed several rows with empty middle seats, the sweat started to trickle off my forehead. I peered into the aisle and backwards, trying to calculate how many other options there might be for him farther back in plane.
Answer: Not many.
He was getting closer. I was suffering high anxiety. The poor fellow at the window, a slim gent in his 50s, was paging through a magazine and unaware of the drama that was unfolding.
And then the potential NFL left tackle arrived, placed his large left hand on the back rest of the seat in front of me and said, "I'm in there.''
I pushed myself upwards, stepped into the aisle and said, "I was afraid of that, as I'm sure was also the case with you.''