Flying High

Flying always seems to get the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. This is very unfortunate considering the frequency of my air travel, but nonetheless it provides me with constant fuel for my various rants.

Yesterday I was struck by delays and cramped seating, oversold flights and cranky fellow travelers. Topping that off, when we finally landed in Philadelphia, after what had been a long layover in Cincinnati, our gate was occupied by another plane and we had to sit on the runway for over thirty minutes, staring at the dozen or so empty gates that surrounded our final destination. Obviously, the decision makers at the airport had no idea the stew of frustration and anger already boiling inside our metal tube.

Taking up the entire row behind me, window to window, were three women who I will politely refer to as “classless rednecks.” Two sat in the seats directly behind me, and the third lady, rather wide in the hip area, sat in the two seats across from them. Undeterred by the loud hum of the jet engines, nor the fact that they were surrounded by fellow travelers who were trying to read, sleep or carry on their own quiet conversations, they bellowed across the aisle to each other.

I’m not sure how they had spent all their time in the Cincinnati airport, but I’d wager everything I own that a good portion of it had been in a bar. Although I am fairly confident that they were relatively obnoxious when sober, the intake of alcohol had given them the added delusion that they were sexy, funny and the only people on the plane.

Throughout the flight these three conversed loudly on a variety of subjects; anything from one’s lack of texting skills to another’s irritable bowel syndrome. Apparently the one named Ann had a husband named Ray who didn’t pay her a lot of attention. She seemed fine with that however, and stated clearly that she intended to find someone who would, hopefully at their hotel bar that very evening.

One commented on the fact that her daughter had developed quite a “potty mouth,” and then proceeded to prove that the fruit did not fall far from the tree. In fact, all three sounded like they had just come ashore from a six month tour of duty, where they likely terrorized their fellow sailors with their obnoxious behavior and crass language.

I realized through their incessant chatter that none of the three had flown before, but I also had to wonder if they had ever been out in public. I only hoped that where ever they came from, it was neither Tennessee nor Kentucky. Holding claims to both states as home, I would have been very embarrassed.

Ann complained for most of the flight about her ears hurting. At one point, and I swear I am not making this up, she actually said, “Why do these damn planes have to fly so high?” The woman in the seat next to me looked up from her book when she heard that nugget of genius and glanced at me as if to say “did I just hear her say that?”

Of course, when it was finally time to leave the plane, they did not follow the rules. Pushing their way forward, they muttered “’scuse me” and elbowed people back into their seats to clear a path. I heard one cackle throatily over her shoulder to her friends, “Why are they all in such a damn hurry?”

I can walk pretty fast when I want to, so inside the terminal, I got away from them as fast as my legs would go, but could still hear their throaty horse laughs echoing down the corridors, frightening small children and peeling paint off the walls. I have no idea where they were going or in what hotel they were staying. I prayed that it was not mine, and I also said a little prayer for the unsuspecting fellow who would cross their path later that evening in a hotel bar. I hoped that he would not be so drunk that he would fall into their grasp, or if he did, that he would be too drunk to remember.