In 1996, I took a flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong. I had a window seat on a United 747. For the bums in coach (including me), the seat configuration was 3-4-3. There was someone in the aisle seat but no one between us.
The flight time was probably a bit longer than 14 hours.
I remember almost nothing about that flight except for this: I got out of that seat only twice, and both times only after my aisle companion got up first.
How in the hell did I survive a 14 hour flight with only two trips to stretch my legs and hit the lav? Today the thought of a five hour cross country trip makes me curl into the fetal position and whimper. I’m chalking it up to either a trance-like state or a complete lack of food and beverage 24 hours prior to the flight.
