Shakes on a Plane

For someone who travels as much as I do, it’s kind of pathetic that I am still so easily susceptible to motion sickness. Today I flew from the Ronald Reagon National Airport in DC to the Charlotte Douglass International Airport in North Carolina. It was a good flight, made better by a free upgrade to first class and the more comfortable seat it afforded me. I never get upgraded on long flights. My flights to the West Coast have always been four hours squeezed between two people who are even larger than I am. One of them is usually a sweater. The other always brings some kind of smelly food. Still, it’s a nice treat to get the upgrade for the sixty-five minute flight from DC to Charlotte.

I like the Charlotte airport. It’s big, but unlike the Atlanta airport, you don’t need a train to get around. They have moving walkways to help you make better time. I’ve learned to scope them out before I get on them, because I can usually make better time walking myself. I’m not sure it’s laziness or fear of falling, but a lot of people do not realize that they can walk on the moving walkways. They also do not heed the signs that say “stay to the right if you are not walking,” and then become completely oblivious to others as they try to pass. When you do finally cough and say a loud “excuse me,” they look at you like they cannot imagine what you are doing. Who would want to move their legs when this fabulous conveyor belt is here to do all the work for you? I am very proud that I have yet to slap anyone on the moving walkways.

If you fly from DC to Charlotte, you arrive at a major gate, such as B10 or C15. The gate to Knoxville is usually E72.147-d. Because of a slight delay leaving DC, I had 7 minutes to get from my arrival gate to my departure gate. I made good time. Dodging the crowds and the walkways, I expertly wove my way from one end of the airport to the other. Even with a quick bathroom stop along the way, I made it just after they opened the doors and started loading.

A lot of people print their boarding passes at home so they can save time at the airport. I do not, and there are a few reasons why. First, it doesn’t save me time. I always check my luggage, so I still have to go to check in at counter (I don’t like giving my luggage to the guys outside, that would require a tip). Second, and more important, I like to change my seat once I’ve arrived at the airport. By that time, I am hoping that most people have checked in and their seats are assigned. If the flight is not full, that gives me some options on choosing where I want to be. I am partial to sitting with an empty seat beside me. Part of this is because I am a big guy and I don’t like making anyone else uncomfortable having to squeeze in next to me, but also it eliminates that "total stranger chit chat" scenario. It’s not that I mind talking to strangers, but you never know how much is too much. Do they really want to talk or are they wishing I would just shut up so they can take a nap. Sometimes I just want to take a nap. I find the entire situation awkward and I’d prefer to avoid it.

When I chose my seats in DC earlier that morning, there were two empty seats in the second row on the flight to Knoxville. I took the aisle seat, and with eight other empty seats still available in the cabin, felt pretty confident that I would have the space to myself. It was a good plan, but today, as the last few passengers boarded, a pretty young woman stopped at row 2 and pointed to the empty window seat beside me. “I’m there,” she said.

It could have been worse. In eight years of steady travel, I have grown accustomed to sitting next to a wide variety of folks. Usually they are businessmen, wearing their jackets and ties, on a quick day trip to attend a meeting or make a presentation. I have sat next to two Congressmen on the direct flights to DC from Knoxville (and still see John Duncan on regular basis as he commutes back and forth to home). Some seatmates are friendly and others are stone dead silent for the entire flight, as if ignoring that I even exist. This young woman was friendly, and we chatted briefly about travel and jobs. I learned that she is a consultant for a National Sorority, and I nodded as if I understood what that meant. I told her my daughter would be going to college in the Fall and asked about Greek life. It was a pleasant discussion which eventually drifted off into an acceptable silence, allowing her to work on a Suduko puzzle and me to lightly doze.

The flight from Charlotte to Knoxville on a jet is brief, only about thirty-three minutes. The twin engine props, still in use by USAir for short commutes, take a bit longer, but today, on this particular flight, we were on a fifty passenger jet. The first half of the flight went well. The flight attendant was friendly, laughing and cutting up with passengers. You learn a lot about the attendant if you sit in the first two rows. She told us that she was on the last flight of a four day assignment, and was heading home to Knoxville for a few days off. Two men in the front row were drinking coffee and as she poured them a refill I could smell the rich coffee aroma which I knew was only a tease because airline coffee never tastes as good as it smells. It’s one step up from instant…and it’s a small step.

I glanced over at the young lady beside me and noticed that she was watching the attendant pour the coffee as well. I decided to share my long held and relatively brilliant observation about coffee being served on airplanes. “Does it make any sense,” I told her, “that with all the concern airlines say they have about safety that they still serve hot coffee in cups with no lids?” She laughed and nodded agreement.

Not fifteen seconds passed after my comment, and with both men holding their refreshed, steaming cups of coffee, the plane hit a tremendous patch of turbulence. The attendant quickly sat down and strapped herself in. Her eyes were wide and she said, “whoa!”

Now, I travel a lot, but I dare say that this flight attendant has logged many more hours in the air than I have. When she said “whoa,” I took notice. We pitched to the right and back to the left, then we hit an air pocket that dropped us enough that I rose off the seat and caught against my seat belt. The two men valiantly held their coffee cups away from their laps, the contents sloshing back and forth. I took a few seconds to be pleased that my observation on the ridiculousness of not having lids on coffee cups was indeed being proved, and then I returned to the process of getting ill.


I take Dramamine for a reason. As a child I could get carsick on the two mile drive to church. My poor father learned to keep an eye out for pull off spots at all times, just in case. It got a little better as I got older, but not much. I still can’t ride in the back of a vehicle…I can’t read while riding…and I always take Dramamine when I fly. Today I took Dramamine before I left DC and it should have lasted all day. Unfortunately, the extent of the turbulence over the Great Smoky Mountains at approxiamately 1:25pm caused it to step aside, raise its hands in defeat and say to my defenseless body, "you're on your own."

I grabbed the seat in front of me for support and felt the cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. The chaos continued for nearly three hours (probably more like five minutes, but when you’re seeing your life pass before your eyes, it’s all in slow motion). When it finally subsided, the last ten minutes of the flight were intermittently bumpy, with long moments of that graceful floating feeling that makes a queasy stomach remember every hot dog, corn dog, nacho, hot wing and egg roll it’s ever tried to digest.

By the time we landed, I was in sad shape. Drenched in sweat, weak in the knees, I stumbled off that plane like I’d been riding a merry-go-round for a week. I stopped in the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face, grabbed my mercifully waiting bag from baggage claim and headed to my car. Leaving the airport, I rolled the window down and hung my head out like a dog, letting the cool March wind hit my face and the sweet knowledge that home was only thirty minutes away.

It felt more like three hundred, but I arrived home to my loving, waiting family and staggered past their open arms to calm cool sheets of my bed. With a fan blowing on me and the blinds closed, I let the darkness take me. Only sleep can quell the misery of my motion sickness, and I let it work the magic. Two hours later I sauntered out into the light, giving and getting the hugs that make returning home worth the while. Ready to face the evening and hoping that next week, as I take flight again, my ride will be a little smoother.