You know, I always wonder why airlines put such a premium on the seats on the side blocks.

When you check in, the counter girl always tells you regrettably that window seats are all taken up, or looks suitably surprised if you don’t want one.

Well, I don’t want one. I want one in the middle block, even if it’s squeezed in the centre between the aisle seats.

Because other people’s bladder habits stress me out.

I find that on long haul flights, failure to check-in online means I almost always get placed in the aisle seat of the side block.

And the window seat occupant is always either the owner of a Super Bladder^TM or on the verge of incontinence.

Which means I’m kept in constant anxiety as to when they’re going to go. I can never settle down with Dribbly McLeakerson, but I’m also suspended in mounting tension waiting for the Super Bladder^TM to finally go so I can fall asleep.

This trip, the girl next to me en route from Moscow to Houston amazingly asked for a drink every single time the stewardess came by. And she had red wine with her snack and beer with her meal and another cup of coffee at the end of it.

And she didn’t go for 10 hours. I kept jumping up everytime she as much as flinched.

She finally decided to go when the seatbelt sign was turned ON. Because all her bladder needed to heed the call of nature was a little jostling from turbulence.