As often as I fly, which is really not that often,I've always wanted to write about my fellow passengers . I find them so doggone intriguing.
Before I continue, I ask you to
please remember that when I fly, I tend to get a little grouchy.
Why, you ask?
Have you seen the size of my chest? By the time I get off the plane, I am pretty sure I have one gigantic boob. And so, yes, I am grouchy. Here goes~
When I see the man in the aisle next to me with his "carry on" that is actually a Hefty garbage bag filled with clothes...I say to you...seriously?
And no, it wasn't the flex kind. Just an observation.
When I see the woman who had the horribly mismatched clothes (in color as well as genre) let her hair down and then watch in horror as a man coming back from the toilet step right onto her hair...I say to you, seriously? Did you not realize that your floor length hair would, oh, I don't know, actually touch the floor when you set it free from that hideous ponytail?
And to the gentleman who sat next to my on my flight home from Atlanta: I am sure you were a very nice soul, you seemed like it. But when you smell a little like saltines and Vienna sausage, I will be just a little distant. And when you put your tray table down so you can sleep on it but end up totally resting on my whole right side of my body, I cringe. Nothing personal.
Ok, everything personal. I am not your pillow. So, in turn, to retreat a little from you, I find myself scrunching even more to the left, thus ensuring an extremely squished boob. So very comfortable for me.
Homage to the young mother traveling with two children under two and no stroller~ You are amazing. I watched how she maintained her composure while they both cried. For at least an hour. I watched her continue in a loving manner to feed them and reassure them and lay them down to sleep on their blankets on the floor. At this point, I walked over to her and told her she was my hero and asked her that if she needed to use the bathroom, I would stay with her children.
I'll admit, just for a slight second,I was worried she was never coming back.
I watched as she bundled up the youngest one ( 6 months) like a pro in her baby carrier strapped to her chest, all the while never waking her. Tucking in her blanket like an expert who has done this a million times. Then gently waking up the 18 month old and putting a restraining harness on him and coaxing him to walk towards the plane. I offered to carry him but she declined. All I kept thinking was, if someone told me I had to travel with two children under 2 with no stroller......I would have told them absolutely not. In a million years. (Hey, I never said I was going to get "Mother of the year" award.)
She is the definition of a good mom.
To the man who sat in the section clearly marked " for our handicap clients only" and then brag about the great seat he got in the terminal.......
you're an idiot. Plain and simple.
And to the mom whose children told her she was sitting in the handicap section? To which she replied " So, they're not sitting here now, are they?" You must be married to the man above. Many happy returns.
To the businessman who kept standing up by his seat, straighten his shirt, glance at his expensive watch and casually look around.... right towards my one gigantic boob....Sit Down. Before I sit down next to you. And trust me, you're not going to want that.
And last but not least,
when I travel alone, to an airport I have never been to before, I get a little tense.
Which explains why, when I landed in Atlanta and proceeded to the baggage claim, as the signs indicated....I may have missed the tram signs to GET to the baggage claim.
So I walked. And walked. And walked. Until I noticed no one was behind me. Or on front of me.
Hold up....is that a tram with people on it? Where might THAT take you? Our trams at SEATAC take you to other terminals, so I was not about to hop on one of those, let me tell you!
So I walked. A kajillion miles ( absolutely no exageration at all here) to baggage claim.
Carrying my Samsonite carry on that weighed a ton, I started to sweat and possibly worry about where I was going to end up. All by myself. In an airport I have never been to.
Eventually I got there right when the tram doors opened up and people poured out in swarms.
I overheard someone say " did she just walk to baggage?" in a hushed tone.
Why yes, yes I did. Is not the sweat pouring down my face a dead giveaway?
Welcome to traveling in my world.