Seriously, don’t do it. Don’t look at this photo. You want to get any work done today? You want to enjoy your lunch? You want to be able to speak to your colleagues and friends without suddenly shrieking and/or soiling yourself? You want to be able to live enjoyably for the rest of your life? Then don’t look at this photo. Please, for the love of Graham, do not look at it.
OK, fuck it, you’re an idiot. Here it is:
I hope you're happy, because I am absolutely, positively, not. That, there, is the worst thing I have ever seen, and I once saw a maggot eating a dead rat’s eye. I would prefer to sit down on a plane, all excited for my holidays, and instead of someone sticking their gross feet next to me, someone stuck their gross dead rat with a maggot eating its eye next to me.
Can you imagine, sitting there, seeing two empty seats and doing one of those fist-clenched “YES” elbow-drops to yourself – you’ve got all the space in the world – and then, then, the devil’s hooves slowly protrude from behind you? The armrests turn black. Foul, evil vines climb up the walls of the cabin, seats burst into flames, passengers turn to dust – the plane is a void, and all that’s left is you, and the hooves. You choke, your eyes roll back into your head: this is eternity.
Can you imagine that?
Plopping yourself down on the cooling leather, head back, oooh, nice sleep I’m going to have here, eyes closed, nostrils open, NOSTRILS OPEN, WHAT IS THAT SMELL, eyes open, eyes left, what are they, neck-hair up, stomach contents bubbling, are they, throat widening, are they feet are they someone’s feet, diaphragm contracting, they are they are they’re someone’s feet I’m going to be sick, abs tightening, STEWARD A BAG A BAG. It is too late. You have been sick, the feet swiftly retract, the smell is now your fault – you have ruined everyone’s flight. “But the feet, the devil’s feet!” you screech. “Detain him!” scream your fellow passengers. You have been kicked off the plane. Your seat is cleaned. The plane is delayed. But finally, after an hour, it begins its taxi down the runway. The feet, even slower than before, protrude, like a slow worm sliding out from underneath a rock. They won. The feet, they won. You lost.
I certainly can’t imagine it.
Like, you’ve got your headphones in, probably listening to something hip and wizard like Enya, really looking forward to having a lovely time in Mallorca or Benidorm or Zante or Newcastle or wherever you’re going, you’ve really got your head in the holiday mindset. You know the feeling – not a care in the world, mind already on the beach, swearing you can already see a tan coming through – this will be the best time ever. But then, something feels a little… off. Something’s not quite right here, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. This isn’t what you need right now – you don’t need anything to taint the blissful mindset you’re currently rocking. But what’s wrong though? OH OK I SEE, I SEE WHAT’S WRONG HERE, SOME ABSOLUTE CHEEK-HOUND HAS KARATE KICKED THE BOUNDARIES OF DECENCY INTO OBLIVION AND THRUST THEIR GIANT FLIPPERS INTO YOUR PERSONAL SPACE, METAPHORICALLY STAMPING ALL OVER YOUR SENSIBILITIES. You begin to spin uncontrollably, reaching speeds of a hundred miles an hour in your seat. You whirl and twist like a tornado, right there on the spot. Do you know what’s happening? You are spinning in your grave. Because you are dead. The worst thing in the world happened and you have died. Welcome to the end.
Seriously, the absolute brazen chutzpah of it all.
“Hmmm, I’m having a lovely time sitting here on an aeroplane, ready to pop off on my holibobs. But I’m a tad uncomfortable here, I need to rectify this immediately. I know! I know what I can do. I’ll just pop off my shoes and rest my feet a bit. That’s nice, but it’s not enough – there’s something missing. Ah yes! I’ll slip my sockies off, really let the filtered air get to my pinkies, that’ll do it. Nope, not good enough – how can I really relax? Maybe if I just… no I can’t, can I? Yeah, go on then, I’ll just slide my feet through these two gaps, straddle this big boy, the person in front won’t mind. People love feet, don’t they? Especially mine. Yeah, let’s just place these cute little paws in front of me, really get the breeze in between my toes. Lovely, that’ll do it. Wait, what’s that? Oh no! The lady in front of me must be ill, she’s just vomited! Better pop these nubbly incy pod-pods back on my side, don’t want any back-splash. Poor lady, hope she’s OK!”
Here are some things I would rather happen than see someone else’s feet sitting next to me for a whole journey:
- Two snakes to be sitting on the armrests next to me for a whole journey
- To be entirely covered in garden slugs for the duration
- For the person behind to press their bare arse into the crack between the seats and fart every ten minutes for the entire trip
- To be on a flight consisting entirely of screaming babies, including the pilot
- To be sellotaped to the wing (this is entirely dependent on the fact that if I happened to look in through the window, I was guaranteed of seeing no feet coming through the gaps on any seats)
- To stay at home and never go on holiday ever again. Just sit on my sofa and watch Dinner Date for eternity
- Related: imagine how bad it would be if you were sitting at home watching Dinner Date and two feet slimed out from underneath the folds of your sofa. I’d rip my own head off
Anyway, don’t do this if you’re ever on a plane please, because it is quite disgusting and could cause unnecessary distress to your fellow passengers. The end.