Reeking of hippie stank perfume, a muddled blend of incense and potpourri, the women next to me seems worried. Dressed in a pink ball cap, covering her greasy died Christina Agulera hair, an Asian styled jacket complete with dragon embroidery on the back, blue jeans, and pink and brown flip-flops and holds a little dog on her lap. The dog is some sort of helper dog, but quite small and the hypoallergenic type. She’s dressed in a red and leopard print “Don’t pet me, I’m working.” jacket.

Before we took off the woman asked me if I was okay with dogs, as if I had a choice? “I’m fine with dogs … ”, I said and wanted to follow with, “but not stinky weirdos as yourself.” Luckily the flight is not super full; there is a seat in between us.

The flight attendants just scooted the drink cart up to the front of the seats. As they did, I noticed lady next to me digging through her maroon velour purse. She pulled out a little packet and popped the little pills into her mouth. I am listening to music, or pretending to with my headphones in, so as to deter any mid-flight conversation. She ordered some sort of juice and spoke with one of the attendants. Then performed the deep purse search again, this time for a credit card. The second attendant took her card, ran it and handed her two mini bottles of vodka.

After my coffee, I felt alert enough to read. I picked up the flight magazine and began reading an article about the Iditarod. About halfway in I noticed the lady slowly slouching sideways. At first I thought she had fallen asleep. But then I saw a pen in her hand and a small piece of paper that she had been writing on. Umm. Hello? I’m looking around…does anyone else notice that the lady passed out mid-sentence?! Okay. Stay calm. You don’t have to touch her if she stops breathing. Just hit the panic red button above to reign in the experienced and trained attendant fleet. OH. Good. She’s up. Resume scribing. Repeat three times.

Jeeze. Who is this lady?! Okay. Chill. Now as I’m writing this blog post, secretly, hiding my screen in my little corner she digs into her velour purse again. Aaaaaand oh. Slow. Down. Aaaaand she’s out again. This time she’s out for a long time. The attendants just came by to take trash. The lady is all the way into the seat next to me. Hat fallen off. Hand half in the purse. Papers and mail sticking out. Leopard print glasses case about to fall. Dog underneath somewhere. One cup of juice still full. One cup of vodka half full. The other cup of juice and mini bottle of vodka have been consumed. The attendant walks up. I pick my head up from my typing and catch her eye. Her inquisitive stare picks up and meets my pleading eyes. “Uhmm,” I motion for her to lean in so I could whisper, “I think she’s passed out … like three or four times!” We exchange confused and weirded out looks. Shrug. She mouths, “I’m sorry!”

Okay. Weirded out. OH. She’s up. Wait. Nope. Slow. Dooowwn. Aaaaaaaand she’s out. Repeat. Twice. Will someone please land the freaking plane?!

The pilot now announces the landing details and she’s up. Turns to me, hair disheveled, makeup smeared—not that that looks any different then before—and asks, “I wasn’t snoring was I?”

Holy shit. I’m sitting next to a drug addict.

On a lighter note: The flight was gorgeous, filled with mountains and sunshine.

It was an “experiment” about a world I had never looked into. Here’s a taste: