One of the first times I ever flew alone was when I was about 8 and my brother and I flew to GA from MD to stay with my Aunt, Uncle and cousins for a week or two. When we got off the plane, we had to wait at the standby desk for my uncle, who had to return to the car to get his ID and then we had to call my mother to confirm that this was indeed my uncle and not some serial killer kidnapper. Not to mention I got sick as a dog after the flight and was miserable the whole visit.
I was on my way to the airport to fly to Chicago to visit my uncle, and as soon as my mother and I got on the interstate, we were pulled over and forced to wait while a state escort drove the VP to some meeting with Senators. So I missed my flight. And sat in the airport for 3 hours. Neat.
In high school, I flew to Colorado for a semester long school program with kids from all over the country, and during the four months we lived, studied and hiked the rockies together, we became a family. When I left to fly home, I was a sobbing ball of disaster. I was so sad to say goodbye to my dear friends, including a boy I had a crush on named Isaac. Naturally, in my distressed state, I was randomly chosen to be searched by the TSA. 16 year old Me, crying her face off, having her luggage picked through by a burly black man in the middle of the Denver Airport. I got the most pitying looks. And then on the plane I was sandwiched between two middle aged men in suits who tried their best to ignore me as I curled up in my seat and cried into my jacket the whole time.
A few months after I returned to Georgia, Isaac and his family invited me to NYC as his birthday present. I boarded the plane and found I was sitting next to an elderly Jamaican woman who had no understanding of personal space. Also, she prattled on about god knows what to me for an hour in an accent I couldn't decipher to save my life. During this hour, we sat on the runway waiting to take off... and waited.... and waited until the pilot came over the speaker and said "Well guys, I'll spare you the technical jargon and just say that this plane is broken. We're gonna head back to the terminal now and see if we can't find you guys another aircraft to get you to NY tonight." Tiny Jamaican woman (who had been force feeding me snacks from her bottomless purse as she prattled) demanded and interpretation and informed me that it was now my responsibility to get her and her baggage safely to our new plane. I didn't really understand this, so I nodded, grabbed my things and followed the pilot's instructions to get to the (hopefully) non-broken plane. When I settled into my seat 30 minutes later, I didn't see Tiny Jamaican woman and fervently hoped she had been directed to another seat. No such luck. She huffed in and plopped her tiny body down next to me and then proceeded to lecture me about leaving her behind. Oops? I feigned sleep during the flight and kindly helped her find the baggage claim and her daughter once we landed.
I have plans to fly to Las Vegas again soon, and I'm dreading it. I've warned Sully that we'll probably be arrested as terrorists or forced to sit next to four crying babies or something, but he's an eternal optimist. If he only knew...
No comments:
Post a Comment