Trash Passing Etiquette -- Volume: Pants Bunching

So I know I am technically in the Airline industry, but sometimes I am pretty positive I'm in the Being In Confined Spaces With Strange People industry...
And what an eventful day in that industry it was.
Today I think I will skip right over the simply creepy people (I know you see the window seat next to you is open but you insist on squeezing your big arse into the middle seat anyway so you can better breathe on the uncomfortable beautiful young lady sitting next to you) and incredibly odd "stretching"/shaking/convulsing in the aisle (as I am so rudely trying to do fulfill my job responsibilities and be available to the other 150 passengers in need) right to the insanely awkward social faux pas that people commit that make me wish Larry David sat on my shoulder as I walked the aisles of the airplane. In case you don't know, I reference Larry David because his show Curb your Enthusiasm is so painfully awkward to watch that I literally can't sleep after watching it because my blood pressure is that of a person who eats only butter and bacon. The story I am about to tell should be on a season finale.
My day was going fairly routinely: Woke up (although much too early for my lifestyle) rather successfully to my alarm; made myself a veggie-fruity smoothie and got to the light rail 1 minute after the "get to the airport comfortably" train and 11 minutes before the "have to catch this one to not be late" train. So I got to work just in the nick of time - like I said, today was typical. Hopped on a plane and flew a bunch of eccentric west coasty people out to San Fransisco and then got a bundle of same yet different people to nearly fill the plane to go back to Minneapolis. We went about our flight attendant business as usual, and things were going well for me personally - 6 hours on a plane reeeally fly by when you have endless celebrity gossip magazines to page through. The pilots come on the PA and say " We are going to land in the Minnesota tundra soon... Flight attendants pick up all the crap, sit down and buckle up. It's windy so it will be a real rough landing." It's not like anyone listens anyways. They could say the B word (no, not bitch - I mean the one you can't say on a plane, dumdum) and passengers would still push their flight attendant call buttons saying "Oh I wasn't listening - did they say we are landing soon? Am I going to make my connection? What gate is the flight to Imatotalinbred going out of?"
So anyways, with this announcement things got a bit more entertaining for Super-Stew Lynnette.
I was walking through collecting trash, "You're trash. You're garbage..." when a businessman in a window seat got all flustered because he apparently had a complete origami-destroying celebration on the flight and now had all this rubbish to throw away. Instead of ignoring and walking on to teach him a lesson: "Don't sweat the small stuff, bro," I decided to wait around with my trash bag so he wouldn't leave heaps of crap for the plane groomers to pick up.
And boy am I glad I did.
The kind, helpful, innocent woman in the middle seat sensed his urgency to get all that he was holding out of his hands immediately, so she assisted in the trash-handling process (not unheard of on flights) to get it to my garbage bag. But, like I said, this man had quite a load of trash and poor middle man (or in this case woman) apparently could not handle it all at once.
Okay, dropping a piece of trash or two now and then - not a big deal, right? Happens to the best of you (I would never). But the stars were aligned today in such a way that....

Let me just ask you - have you ever experienced pants bunching? Here's a common case of it:

Of course you've had it. If you've worn pants, you've had pants bunching.
Except it more often happens with you sit down, perhaps this will be more familiar:

However, I think his hands down his trousers are actually keeping his pants from bunching properly. Anyways, the man on the aisle seat in this situation had some quality Dockers pants bunching that, because he was sitting upright with out his hands shoved in them, looked pretty much like this:

You see, the bunching of Aisleman's pants was diagonally directed towards ... well, you see the above photo.
Now. I don't want you to think I roam around looking at crotches all day. The truth is so far from it, amigo, just hold tight.
So Miss In-The-Middle has both her hands full of Lordknowswhat, and as she's swinging the mess around to my bag a few pieces flutter away from her grip. By a few pieces I mean two: A napkin which falls on her tray table, which she quickly recovers and drops in the bag after her hands are free, and a swizzle stick (you know, a miniature straw) which falls - you guessed it, precisely in the Aisleman's pants bunch alongside his own mini aisleman.
Can you feel my face heating up to 211 degrees through the Internet?
WHAT TO DO?!
Well I could tell you what I would do, but MiddleWoman certainly did not do what I would have done (which is pretend like it didn't happen and avoid eye contact with every human within a 50 mile radius the rest of the week). She went ahead and, without thinking, reached and grabbed
First her jaw dropped - almost as if she was watching some other woman reach into a stranger's crotch on an airplane. Next, she made a sound that sounded a little bit like "Oops" but sounded a lot more like "Holy s#!t what did I just do?" Then - and this is my favorite part - she threw the swizzle stick into the same pantsbunch from where she retrieved it and with a petrified child-in-trouble face stared at the man (from 9 inches away - don't forget we are on a plane) whom she just violated.
Needless to say, this little mishap drew his attention away from his Kindle.

And this is where things got dreadfully awkward. Because now he, middlewoman, windowman, myself and several neighboring passengers (it was quite the commotion) were staring at this man's pants bunching and the bright red straw wedged back into it. And for the same reason that I can't watch Curb anymore, I buried my blushing face into my shoulder (as I unsuccessfully tried not to laugh) and could hardly watch as manbunches re-fished the swizzle from his lap and dropped it in my garbage bag. Just as he was giving Missy Handful an uncomfortable but forgiving glance, I speed walked away too fast to hear any apologies (or business card exchanging - I assume both took place) and continued my duties as best I could.

I think we all (well maybe just that woman and I) learned an important lesson today:

Take a deep breath and really take in the situation when something a bit unfortunate happens. Because if you don't, something much worse will probably ensue.
And who knows how a stranger will react to you grabbing swizzles from their bunching.

- OR - I will take that advice to heart, and you keep doing absurd things that I can blog about.