I have a rather unfortunate physiological quirk that causes me profound embarrassment every now and then.
It usually happens when I’m commuting on a quiet train or settled into a long-haul flight. The soothing rhythm of the travel lulls me, my eyes grow heavy, and I start to feel tired. My head slowly sinks down toward my chest, and I momentarily doze off into a peaceful, blissful sleep.
Then, without a single second of warning, my airway collapses and I let out the loudest snort imaginable—a real ripper from deep within the nasal passages, sounding remarkably like a walrus in heat.
The violent sonic boom of my own body shoots me instantly back to full consciousness. My head snaps up, my eyes fly open, and I am immediately met with the horror of thirty fellow passengers who have all turned in their seats to identify the source of the mighty blast.
Thankfully this doesn't happen too often, but when it does, I want to be swallowed up by the floorboards. My only survival strategy is to instantly join the rest of the carriage in looking around with an expression of deep, horrified disgust, silently asking the crowd, "Can you believe the nerve of whoever just did that?!"
0 comments:
Post a Comment