To the untrained eye, a 6 hour flight must seem dull.  But for me, it is a time to notice all kinds of crazy things!

  • A child on the plane is crying because his foot is swelling (Swelling?  This is not good).  His mother is concerned.  A woman comes over to help, claiming she is a homeopath.  The mother looks more concerned.  The flight attendant calls for a doctor.  The homeopath looks enraged.  The doctor arrives, swiftly dismisses the homeopath.  An altercation is narrowly avoided.  Said child is given ibuprofen and told to rest.  Mother looks relieved.  The homeopath stews.
  • A woman one seat up from me across the aisle is on her fifth crossword puzzle.  She looks highly determined. 
  • The movie starts.  It looks foreign.  I am bored immediately.  Dear god, have I really become that provincial?  No, just missed the States after a three week absence.

I observe that there are several types of flyers out there.  A few:

  • Spacehogs who immediately claim as much territory as possible.  The take the entire overhead and the area under the seat.  If they are your neighbor, forget about the armrest!
  • First time travelers who arrive on the plane typically wearing tank tops and daisy dukes, with midriff blazing all the way (I cannot help but to release a snide chuckle knowing they are setting themselves up for hours of shivering);
  • Meditators…these are the ones that amaze me – they get on the plane with NOTHING to read or look at.  I mean, who can sit there for hours staring at the seat in front of them???  I kindly conclude they must be buddhas rather than numnuts. 
  • Scouts – those that were definitely Boy or Girl Scouts as children.  They arrive with ample reading, enough beverages for a safari and square meals.  A woman two rows behind me has set herself up with a three course lunch.  No joke.  She started with a lovely looking cucumber and tomato salad, followed by baked ziti with freshly grated cheese and a side of crisp green beans.  She finished it off with tiramisu.  Tiramisu?  Impressive.  I neglected to bring anything to eat, arrogantly assuming I would be upgraded (uh, yeah).  Piddle to that.  It was not to be.  So I sit here now starving and almost through an entire tin of raspberry flavored hard candies.  I will surely come to regret this later.
  • Finally, and my personal favorite, arrive the Bad Children.  Not real bad children, though there are plenty of those, but adult bad children.  Those that upon sitting crank their seats back all the way.  Others in this category immediately jump on cell phones to discuss NOTHING for all of us around to hear.  People in this category feel they are above the rules.  They are my favorite because as a lifetime follower of rules (how dull, I know, but I am a first born child and cannot help it).  I relish in seeing them get lectured by the flight attendants (am now revealing side of self that is better left unsaid, that petty hahaha! side of me).  Sweet revenge for those of us that never whispered in class, keep quiet in movies, and dutifully replace our seats to their full, upright positions for landing and takeoff. 

So what is “crosscheck” anyway?

Someone is passing gas.  How rude.  We are in a closed environment, people.  Almost as bad as letting one fly in an elevator.  Inexcusable.

I find myself amazed by my mother.  She flew for a living and managed dealing with all these people.  How wonderful.  No wonder she is a good mom.  The patience of Job, I say, but took no sh*t either. 

The sundaes are being served in Business Class.  I feel robbed.  In steerage we don’t get sundaes.  But there is a lovely snack box for sale.  It has cheese, crackers, dried fruit, turkey stick, cookies…halt. 

Turkey

STICK?  We should be ashamed as a country. 

Turkey

stick.

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