Flying the Frustrating Skies

Maybe it’s my fault. I suppose it could be. As I was walking through the airport before my flight, I started thinking and laughing to myself about the local news anchors in Sacramento lamenting their woes of air travel. Well, it wasn’t so much the lamenting, but the fear-mongering that irritated me and led me to find it so ridiculous that it provided humor a day later as I was about to have my own flying woes (unbeknownst to me).

The news story was about the new Air Traveler’s Bill of Rights. Now I know this subject (specifically the subject of people feeling slighted by airlines) really gets people going. In some instances it creates the same ire that Arizona’s SB 1060 does, but, in my humble opinion, it’s a little far-reaching for newscasters to discuss how terrified they are of flying, not because they feel it’s dangerous, but because they are afraid that they might get stuck on the tarmac for awhile and that the plane might run out of food before they get any and feel that paying to check a bag is highway robbery (which, it kind of is…but how much stuff do you REALLY need to take on your weekend trip to Palm Springs?). They went so far as to say that it was easier and cheaper to drive. Now, this may be the case if you’re going a short distance, but I beg to differ on anything further than 200 miles. Seriously. It’s WAY cheaper for me to fly down to LA than it is to drive. Sure they were bringing up baggage fees and having to pay for your food, but let’s be honest. Was airline food ever good? How much of it was wasted? And what they offer for sale? Still not great. You may as well bring your own. And really, is the lack of crappy food a reason to be “terrified” of flying? But anyway, I was busy scoffing at the laughable memory of the newscast, and then minutes later, I found myself in H-E-Double-Hockey Sticks.

It was supposed to be simple flight. Straight-forward. Nothing special. Just a no-nonsense, three-and-a-half hour, straight-shot, direct flight to Dallas. Easy, right? Wrong.

At first there was nothing exceptional about the flight. They called out the boarding groups, I got on with mine—4. As I stood in the line waiting to board, I noticed a girl a couple people ahead of me, bobbing her head as though she were really into the beat of the music she would have been listening to had she been listening to any. She seemed a little odd, but I felt confident that I wouldn’t be anywhere near her. I did change my seat from the very back row to row 17 after all. And that means something. I had no idea it was going to mean sitting in the most annoying seat on the plane, though. Had the website given me that piece of information, I would have happily stuck with 24A.

So, at long last, I got on the plane, and who should be holding up traffic at seat 16? Bobbing Head, that’s who. And, oh wait…some old lady was standing in front of my seat (17D—the aisle for those that aren’t plane savvy) with her bag on my seat. Bobbing
Head slowly shoved her belongings into the overhead compartment. She even moved into row 16 a little in what seemed like a gesture to allow me to pass; however, I soon discovered that was not her intention. I saw the approaching crowd behind me, and I pointed to my seat.

“Excuse me, I’m in that seat.”

The old lady looked down and looked at me. “Oh, okay. This is my seat. I’m waiting for her to finish putting her things away. She’s in this row too”

Just letting it go, I said, “Uh, okay.”

Bobbing Head finally finished putting her things away, and I turned to her and said, “Hi, are you going to sit down? I need to get to my seat. I’m in 17D.”

She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “I’m in the middle seat.”

“Okay, well, I’m on the aisle, so I need you to sit down first.” Then I looked at the old lady.

“Ma’am, are you going to take your seat? We need to sit down so we aren’t blocking the aisle.”

“Well, this is my seat. I’m always on the aisle.”

“Not this time. I have 17D.” Feeling the need to move things along, I tried to use my crowd control skills to my advantage.

“Oh,” The old lady looked at her ticket. “I’m in the window.”

“Okay, well, then can you take your seat, so she can sit down, and I can then sit down?”

Bobbing Head cut in. “Would you prefer the aisle?”

“Of course.” The Old Lady replied. “I usually have the aisle.”

“I’m sure,” Bobbing Head shot me glance. “Someone would be willing to let you sit in the aisle seat.”

Unable to let this frustrating conversation continue, I started directing them. “Okay, well, I’m sure we can work something out, but right now we all need to remove ourselves from the aisle itself as there is a plane full of people trying to get to their seats. So, why don’t you move into the seats and we’ll sort it out.”

The old lady then sat down in the middle seat. “But this isn’t my seat.”

“You’re absolutely right, but at this moment we need to fix the real problem and that is blocking the aisle. How about we all move into a seat, let him pass, and then we can sort out the issue.”

The guy behind me started laughing. He passed us and smiled at me.

“Well, I always sit in the aisle.” The woman wasn’t budging from the middle seat.”

“Okay, ma’am. Would you like to sit in the aisle?” I asked the woman.

“Yes, I would.”

“Then stand up, and let us in the row. You can have it.”

Bobbing Head just stood there doing nothing. I turned to her. “Would you like the window?”

“Yeah.”

“Then take it.” I presented the seat with my hand.

“Okay, but…”

“Look, we just need to sit down. I don’t care.” (Oh, but I SHOULD have cared!)

We all finally took our seats, and I did what I could to clearly define my space in the middle seat of misery. Within seconds of sitting down, Bobbing Head made a phone call. A loud phone call. A loud complaint-filled phone call about all of her friends who have ever done her wrong. She then moved onto loudly cursing and talking about sex. And that’s when I decided that if the FAA ever allows cell phone use on a plane, I’m investing in a private jet.

She finally completed her phone call, then turned her iPod on, after slamming it against the plane window a few times. Now, when she turned her iPod on, she opted to turn it up so loud that I felt as though I were wearing the earbuds. Then she started drumming…and singing. (I feel I should also mention that prior to her turning the iPod on, she was loudly singing, leading me to regret leaving MY earbuds on the kitchen counter.)

While all of that was going on, the old lady started tugging at her dentures. At one point she pulled them out. Then she started picking at them. And I wasn’t even in a bad place yet. This was just the beginning of the AnnoyingLand Adventure Park.

As soon as the dentures were securely in the old lady’s mouth, I was made aware of the infant sitting across the aisle from me—not because he was crying, but because his parents decided to “soothe” him by incessantly shaking maracas. Now, when I say incessantly, I’m not exaggerating. They shook the very LOUD rattle for a half an hour without stopping. A half an hour! And I was worried (rightfully so) that they would keep it up for the entire three-and-a-half hour flight. Did I mention that we hadn’t left the jet-way yet?

Oh yeah, I said it. We hadn’t left the jet-way. Why? Because we were delayed due to a mechanical problem. We sat on the plane for an hour and a half with promises of leaving soon. The whole time we waited, the people around me continued to be noisy, annoying, and gross (in that order). Then the announcements started, asking for our patience. Then, they informed us that we would be delayed at least another half an hour. Then they told us that we might change planes. Then they told us that the flight might get canceled. And finally, they told us that we may as well get off of the plane because we definitely were not leaving for at least an hour (if at all).

The whole time these announcements were being made, Bobbing Head was busy being a little noise box. Without fail, two minutes after every announcement, she would loudly yell, “What the fuck?! Why aren’t we going anywhere?” And then I’d have to explain the situation as I understood it from the announcements that had JUST been made. When the final announcement was made, people started exiting the plane. Bobbing Head then turned to me and yelled, “What the hell? Do we all have to get off the plane? This is BULLSHIT!”

“Well, you are welcome to stay on board, but we might not be leaving for an hour or so.” I calmly replied.

“They can’t do this!” She screamed, throwing in f-bombs here and there. She then got on her phone to start yelling to her friends about this gross injustice, exclaiming that, “I better get a fucking refund. You don’t pay this much money for a flight to be two hours late. I’m raising hell. This is bullshit. Those motherfuckers better not fuck with me.”

Right. And that attitude (and mouth) is definitely going to win you some friends over at customer service. Is this your first time on a plane? In public? Outside of your cave or barn? While I have no doubt you spent some cash on this flight because Dallas hasn’t been on the cheap destination list for awhile, I can’t help but notice that you’re sitting in coach, which tells me you didn’t pay as much as the fools up in first class. I’m afraid your argument won’t get you very far, since the airline WILL get you to Dallas eventually.

And then I exited the plane, secretly hoping that when I returned my cute-as-a-button seatmate would have received her walking papers.

After spending an hour in the airport, we re-boarded the plane, and I was dismayed to see that my little friend was still there (and that she had staked a claim on the entire row in my absence (claim jumping space hog!)). She moved over, whilst continuing yet another loud conversation on the phone. The old lady sat back down in MY seat (which I REALLY wanted to take back, but realized what kind of jerk I’d be if I suddenly took it back), and I sat awaiting my terrible fate.

But wait! What did I see across the aisle? Empty seats. No baby and a whole empty row. To top it off, no one else seemed to be boarding the plane. A flight attendant walked by, and I quickly asked her if anyone else was expected to board.

“No, this is it. Those people probably got on other flights. Would you like to sit there?”

Do I even need to answer that?!

The old lady was overjoyed for me. I was overjoyed for me, and I moved over. Once I found my new little area, all was right with the world. I was friendlier, and Bobbing Head was suddenly pleasant and lacked a foul mouth, leading me to wonder if I brought out the crazy.

Whatever the case, my plane nightmare was over, and I’m still not terrified of planes. I am, however, not interested in being nice anymore.

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Addendum:

When we finally got into Dallas, everyone was ready to bail from the plane--especially Bobbing Head. So much so, that she physically climbed OVER the old lady to get into the aisle and grab her things. It was imperative that she get off of that plane because she had plans. Important plans.

I exited the plane much later than her AND visited the bathroom...AND left the airport before she did because she was still waiting around for her luggage as I waltzed out. So maybe it does pay to be nice after all.