This was the worst, the absolute fucking worst beer-drinking experience of all time.
I was on the plane, squished in by the window with two people between me and the aisle, and I needed to pee.
Now, I know peeing on a plane is not a huge deal – most people would have just gone at the first sign of nature’s call – but I have this weird phobia of bothering strangers. I didn’t want to make the people next to me stand up and get out of their seats, so I just sat there like a chump waiting for it to get worse.
And then eventually, when it was really time to go, I saw the dinner cart approaching. This forced me into a new dilemma: get up, make a nuisance of myself and risk missing my food (or at least the beef option), or stay imprisoned in my seat until dinner was over.
Like an idiot I chose the latter option. And to make things worse, I had to order a beer because this was my only chance to get one in before midnight.
Every sip, which I took with a kind of angry determination, was pure torture. The beer tasted like watery piss (the piss I wasn’t having), and turned me into a tense, squirming wreck. Eventually when the alarm bells grew too loud to ignore, I realized I was going to have to take action.
“Excuse me” I said to the two people next to me, who were busy tucking into their stroganoff and wine.
“I know this is awfully bad timing, but I think I’d better use the loo.”