I fume silently. 

     The prick has lived up to my prediction, and probably his name. I bet it's something pretentious like Ivan or Murray or something. Of all the things he could have done (never mind that he already judged me for my appearance) he had to spill his goddamn drink all over me. Thanks to him, I'll have to sit through the rest of the flight with slightly damp pants. 

     I must admit, it's always been my dream to sit through a long haul flight with a cola flavoured crotch area and a sour person next to me. Thank you, fate, for fulfilling my greatest wish. This is absolutely wonderful. 

     And here I was, considering the possibility that things were already at their worst. How ironic that I can be right and wrong at the same time. Thank you, brain-dead judgmental asshole, for disproving the theory that people are innately good. 

     Because they aren't.