Alfredo attack

I've just experienced the sensation of having piping hot fettucine alfredo dumped on my uncovered arm. There I was, minding my own business in seat 8C of USAirways flight 605 from Chicago to Las vegas, when the flight attendant came barreling down the aisle, balancing a tin of pasta above his head. The flight attendant, a big, muscular dead-ringer for Mr. Clean, wasn't doing a great job of balancing because the entire dish overturned onto my right arm. As soon as it hit me, I brushed it off into the aisle, reflexively getting the hot stuff off my skin.

So I had to spend the next few hours of the flight with the smell of a first-class passenger's failed pasta dinner on the floor next to me, despite the flight attendant's attempts to clean it up. And this was on a flight where a man across the aisle started to drink his cookies from a plastic cellophane sleeve. He maneuvered each cookie deftly into his mouth, refusing to touch any of the edibles with his hands, but carefully twisting and turning each crumb with a tilt of the head or a gentle pat with his finger. I can't wait to get home.