Flying High (the unintended sequel)

Flying High 2

As I settled into my seat on flight 6127 yesterday afternoon, after another round of delays and airport aggravation, I was primarily thinking about getting home. It had been a relatively short trip, but it made no difference. When it’s time to go home, you just want to get there.

This plane was smaller than what I had flown on Monday, with two seats on one side and a single seat on the other. I was happy to have gotten a lone seat, avoiding the uncomfortable head nods and awkward press of body to body that always seems to be more my fault than theirs.

While I stuffed my backpack under the seat in front of me, I heard a voice that plucked at my memory and my nerves. “Good Gawd, I don’t think they can make these things any smaller! I can’t hardly get my big butt through here.”

I looked up to see the frizzy hair and frowning face of Ann, one third of the drunken trio who had tortured me on my previous flight. I almost had to laugh. Maybe this was some kind of Karmic retribution for my withering lack of patience with folks who lack certain basic social skills. They say you get what you deserve, so this must have been God’s way of saying, “straighten up, buddy. Fly right.”

To make matters worse, she sat behind me again. If this was to be retribution, then there could be no other place. She had her three bags of Phillies’s memorabilia and her Ben Franklin coffee mugs (which, even when wrapped well, can give a good wallop to a shoulder when they are swung through the aisles with mad abandon). She grabbed my seat and used it to guide herself into a sitting position, pulling with such force that I nearly reclined into her lap.

The other two ladies came along soon after, and were fortunately seated somewhere in the rear of the plane. I almost expected them to carry on a conversation across ten rows, but thankfully, they did not. The younger woman had a bag of food from Panda Express, so I was even happier that she was not sitting near me. I’m not a fan of smelly food on an airplane, and the aroma of Mu Shu Pork or Sesame Chicken can be a bit overpowering. If we encountered any turbulence, that smell would not help keep stomachs calm.

Ann seemed to be having trouble with all her stuff. The overhead bins were mostly full and there wasn’t enough room under my seat for her combination of souvenirs, large purse and leopard print carry-on. The man across the aisle from her, trying to be nice, offered to help stow her bags. I glanced back and saw her eyes mist over. I think she fell in love.

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart” she said, her voice dripping with smoke damaged southern charm. He took part of her bags and stuffed them into spaces in two different bins. “Oh Gawd,” she gushed, “I just might have to take you home with me!” He smiled politely and I considered grabbing his arm to warn him; “run man…get off the plane! Rent a car or walk if you have to, but don’t get caught in her snare!”

She continued having trouble getting situated, and I could feel her twisting behind me, pulling hard on my seat over and over again, and then letting it go to spring it forward against my head with a thump. Her knee jabbed into my back repeatedly, and if I hadn’t been more than a little bit scared of her, I would have said something. Instead, I just grimaced in pain and thought about how I would decimate her in my blog.

Before the door was closed for takeoff, a passenger in one of the front seats made their way down the aisle to the back, and not long after, the co-pilot did the same. Ann reached across the aisle and poked her new boyfriend in the arm. “What’s the deal? Is there a bathroom back there or something?”

I glanced back and caught the look on his face. Like most people, he didn’t know what to say, so he just smiled and buried his nose in the Delta Sky magazine. She wouldn’t let him off so easy though, adding, “I hope we don’t fly too high this time. That just kills my ears.”

I have to admit that this time I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud.

The rest of the flight was fairly non-eventful. Ann fell asleep not long after take-off and alternately snored and snorted through the rest of the flight. When we finally landed, I was tempted to ask how her manhunt had gone in Philadelphia, but decided against it. My curiosity was not worth the mental scars that too much information would no doubt create.

I hurried to get off the plane and found my way quickly to my next gate, desperately hoping that they were not somehow on my flight to Knoxville. They were not, and I did not see nor hear them again. Much later, after more delays and some mechanical troubles that kept me in Cincinnati longer than I wanted, I sat and wondered if there was some lesson that I was supposed to learn from all this.

I’m sure there were plenty. Maybe I am supposed to be more tolerant. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about people being obnoxious in public. Maybe I should simply drive instead of fly if my destination is within the continental United States. All of these and more are likely true. If I were a better person, I might actually learn from them, but like the drunken trio, I have my own faults, and I seriously doubt that I’m gonna change.