Flush, Flush, Flush

Never have so many had to go so often. You might call the trip a flushing success. I'm talking people in line, six deep, waiting to go go go.

If you ever have the chance, the awful opportunity, to sit in row 29 in a 29 row plane, cancel the flight. Refuse the offer.

That is where, of course, the two bathrooms are. And there are about 200 people in a B737. That's what the where-the-exits-are book called it. A B737. Should have been a GO737.

And why, you ask, your dark eyes flashing, would the parents of a long-wailing youngster think that passengers may be less infuriated if they moved to the back of the plane? To stand next to, you guessed it, Row 29.

Do the seats get smaller the farther back in the airplane? Or is it that your left side, aisle seat, is merely cramped by others' butts leaning on the arm? Is it because these seats won't recline?

Is there something in people's heads that make them get up and go to the bathroom when the captain announces that it's rough weather, seatbelt time, and to please "take your seats"?

And how many times can one person possibly need to use the bathroom between Dallas and Boston? Let's just say there were many "frequent" flyers.

And, by the way, how do you flush the darn things?

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