Los Angeles to London, nonstop in 2001. Back row in a middle seat. On my left an obese, flatuence-filled woman who made warning grunt noises each time her overflowing fat rolls made contact with my arm within my space. On my right a sweet young mother but with a very unruly one year old in her lap. My seat couldn’t recline because it was up against the bathroom wall. The entire flight was filled with the loud whooshes of the toilet flushing followed by loitering smells of shit after they opened the door to exit. It not only kept me awake the entire flight but the overtired and inconsolable one year old who cried nonstop the last 3 hours of the flight.

We encountered turbulence on our descent into London. The large woman threw up into a barf bag but then accidentally dropped it. Some of it got on my backpack stowed under my seat. The last 30 minutes of the flight were a constant flow of personal dry heaves and battling to avoid throwing up myself from the smells.

And thus began my two year Mormon mission which was a whole ‘nother type of personal hell.