This is what I did on my 14 hour flight to Hong Kong:
Tried to figure out which one on the plane was a terrorist (It’s never who you think). Tried to ignore the guy’s exposed crusty feet next to me. Assumed only a terrorist would wear sandals on an international flight. Read an entire Chelsea Handler book and half of Lord of the Flies (no relation to Lord of the Rings) on my iPad. Considered the irony of Lord of the Flies being about a plane crashing on an island, everyone going barbaric and eating each other. Stared hungrily at the plump woman in front of me with tender veal-like fleshy arms. Watched Emerica’s Stay Gold on my iPad, 3 movies in my chair, 2 episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and 1 episode of How to Make it in America that always reminds me of how Ben and I started The Hundreds. Poked the mystery meat they served for lunch and dinner and imagined the pilot getting on the intercom to announce that they accidentally served us cat food and they were very sorry. Tried to strike up a conversation with people in the bathroom line but everyone was (1) just trying to piss and (2) Chinese. Finally gave in to the pressure and checked the remaining time, convinced that we probably only had 20 minutes of the flight left. We had another 6 hours left. Started going crazy. Surprised myself by how loud I could fart without anyone hearing. Lost a match of Arm-rest Wars with Mr. Grape Stompers. Wait, I misread, we’ve only been flying for 6 hours!? So we have 8 hours left?! Started really going crazy. Tried all the beverages on the cart that people only drink on airplanes like Tomato Juice and Canada Dry. Read my Passport. Read it again. Froze to death. Hated everyone. Hated everything about my life that led me to that point. Lost all sensation in my lower half.
And then we landed.