This is an oldie but goodie.
Original post occurred on April 12th, 2006
So I was in Italy last week through mid of this week for work. I traveled to Florence, Bologna and Milan. Had to go to a trade show and find the perfect face pallete and tube orifices. I loved Italy; the sights, the history, the food, the MEN. Ay dios mio! I can't wait to go back.
With that being said, my travel to get to Italy was anything but smooth. Long story short there were numerous planes, trains and automobiles that were graced with my presence before I finally flopped down onto my lovely hotel room that overlooked the St. Maria Novella in Florence.
I would like to recount my tale of my flight from Charles DeGaulle airport in Paris to Pisa:
So I'm sitting at my gate people watching (it has to be said that people watching, especially in airports, is one of my favorite things to do) and I see this 7 foot tall man walking towards the information counter. He is literally 7 feet tall. Like his legs start at his neck. And he is wrapped in something that appears to be a sheet. The woman points over to my seating area and he ambles over sits down a few feet away from me. I see that he is rubbing something in his hands, a Rosary perhaps, and mumbling what appears to be a prayer with his eyes closed.
Alrighty then.
We are instructed to board. Now, when you board planes at Charles De Gaulle, you take a bus to the plane and board on the runway. It's kind of weird but you get used to it. You just think that you're boarding your own private jet....or Air Force One.
So I find my row and see that I'm by the window and in the aisle is a cute Italian boy. So far there is no one between us. Oooh this could be a fun flight :)
People continue to board the plan. And I see 7 foot tall Sheet Man head towards the back. "Phew!" I think, "Dodged a bullet there!!"
May lightening strike me dead on the spot.
As soon as I think that I hear an Air France Stewardess (or is it flight attendant...what are we calling them these days) chirp "Oui Monseiur, your seat is right here, 6B."
I look up and what seat is right next to me, but 6B. I look over and who is going to be sitting next to me but 7 foot tall Sheet Man. So he shuffles his way into the seat and plops down next to me, stabbing me with his knees and elbows the entire time."
Now...let me tell you something..I'm all for if you want to be one with nature (i.e. not shower or wear deodorant). I mean that's your preference and you can do whatever blows your hair back. But when I'm sitting in a plane the size of a Smart Car, I'm really not trying to be all up in that. Thank God I was wearing a gigantic Pashmina that I could wrap around my nose and head. I looked "strange" to say the least, but my olfactory senses were on overdrive and this was a 2 hour plane ride to Pisa.
So the Stewardess/Flight Attendent/Air Plane Person brings over some lovely biscuits. As I'm munching on my biscuit I steal a glance at Sheet Man. He is rubbing what I now see is something similar to a Rosary. It's wood and there is a cross on the end of it. As I move my head to go back to my chow I see something...
No...it can't be.
I blink once, twice. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and refocus.
YES! IT IS! HOLY MOTHER OF GOD SEVEN FOOT TALL SHEET MAN HAS 6 FINGERS ON HIS LEFT HAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
(Disclaimer: the picture shown is not from the actual Seven Foot Tall Six Fingered Sheet Man. It merely serves as a visual)
With all of the subtleness of a Nazi Storm Trooper I whip my head around and stare at Sheet Man. He has finished his biscuit and is how whiping the crumbs off of his tray table, mumbling what is no doubt another prayer. The 6th finger, which is a mini pinkie off of his larger pinkie is flipping around as he de-crumbs.
I am entranced. My mother taught me to not stare but I can't help it. All that runs through my brain is:
"My name is Anito Montoya. I am looking for a man with six fingers who killed my father."
I crane my neck around for any recognition that anyone else on this plan knows about 7 Foot Tall "Six Fingered" Sheet Man. But then it dawns on me....not only is the plane primarily Italian speaking, but everyone is also passed out.
Alas, I have no one to share my eleven fingered seat mate with.
Such is life I guess...