"I can't stand babies on flights," said the guy, adding he should get 10 percent off whenever a baby cries on an airplane.
"And what about those tall people? They take up room too," he said.
He's correct. Long-legged people don't know where to put their dang legs on airplanes. They can't very well put them in the overhead compartment. Such people are not only a nuisance on airplanes, they're borderline criminal.
If they sit behind you, they punch your kidneys with their bony knees. And if they sit next to you, they commit perhaps the most dreaded airline sin of all: Sustained High-Altitude Thigh Contact.
I can't think of anything worse, except perhaps being inadvertently slimed through random sweat transfer at the Taste of Chicago. Imagine the horror of the poor skinny human sandwich, a big person overflowing on one side, and Manute Bol on the other, committing high-altitude thigh-on-thigh contact.
So I demand an airline rebate too, on account of my own rather stumpy southern Mediterranean legs. When I sit down, I appear to be quite normal. But my inseams are shockingly short, about the same inseam length of a mayor of Chicago, or of a G.I. Joe action figure.
"The old G.I. Joe or new G.I. Joe?" asked my skinny colleague, Old School.
Does it matter how short your legs or how wide your girth?
Mr. Puni sure does think so.