I shimmy to my seat next to the window. As long as I have one side that isn’t stranger I can stay sane. First things first, I snatch up my wee little pillow and blanket to make sure I have them. The blanket works well to cover my lap for some semblance of decency when I tuck my legs up underneath me while wearing a dress. I kick my duffel bag into its standard place at my feet. My flats get kicked off and I wedge them underneath my bag. Next I need to peel off my layers of jacket, scarf, sweater, and long sleeved shirt to tuck in at my side. Never mind if it is the middle of summer - these items of clothing serve as a pillow in place of the airline one that is the size of a breath mint. Plus they are that much less weight in my dangerously close to the weight limit suitcase. My travel policy is to wear several more layers than your standard bag lady in the middle of winter.
I hold my breath until I see who sits down next to me. “Please not a creepy, fat, smelly man. Please not a creepy, fat, smelly man.” I’ve been next to screaming infants, a vomiting toddler, and a six year old who had been traveling for the prior 12 hours with only intermittent naps but for some reason I dread the “creepy, fat, and smelly man” the most. I blame the trip back from Ireland where the man sitting behind me looked just like the rapist in the movie I was watching. That was one trip I had a sore neck from glances over my shoulder and not the awkward angle napping. I can plan everything but I know I cannot plan this. Still, I figure a few prayers won’t hurt anything. Does God have more important worries than if my right side smells like B.O. from sitting next to Captain Hygiene for eight hours? Obviously, but I put a word in just in case there is a slow moment.
While I await my neighbor-fate I go about arranging everything I have planned. Puzzle book, iPod, magazine, and two books are slid out of my duffle bag’s side pocket and stacked on the top of my bag. The planning of airplane books is critical. I always bring one book of a frightening length that looks like the reading of it will be a serious labor. A good guideline is if it is too heavy to hold up for bathtub reading. That is the size book I need for eight hours in the air. Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic I need to have a serious interest in the protagonists’ life and enough pages to get me over the million more miles to go. My second book choice is something “fluffy.” It might be a quick read but it probably has comedic value and something in it that will redeem my mid-flight feelings of hatred toward everyone else on the plane. Selection of the puzzle book is also crucial. Never make the mistake of thinking you can write your sudoku or fill-it-in numbers into those little boxes in the middle of turbulence. If you want to write in it on a plane, go for the Gramma books. If the front cover doesn’t say “LARGE PRINT” in letters larger than two inches - step away. A bump will happen and that four will end up taking up three boxes, it is more or less guaranteed. Another important consideration in the selection of puzzles is neighbor elbows. The magazine is there for something to read while you wait to catch a flight attendant. It is whatever crap women’s magazine they sold at the airport. I don’t have the patience to wait for someone to walk by but I am incapable of not shutting the world around me out if I have a good book. Magazines are also great for when you need daydream time.
The final step in a happy flight is to fish out whatever food I have smuggled. I know better than to rely on the cat food the airlines love to serve (I’m looking at you Aer Lingus). I have successfully smuggled a ridiculous variety of food. Whether it was Irish flapjacks, gourmet German chocolates, or Russian crackers I have always managed to sneak something in my bag to ward off hunger. Fancy German chocolates are the reason one Israeli child is still alive after announcing for the 2391827439283rd time that he was “bored” and making the word bored sound like it had eight or more syllables. I know I can’t rely on the airline to serve me good food and even if they do I know they won’t necessarily package it in a way that I can open with my neuropathy hands so I always pack comfort food.
I still harbor some doubts that terrorists weren’t happy fliers who just happened to get stuck next to some of the children I have been stuck next to but I have figured out how to make flying more pleasant. It has been an ugly, sweaty, suffocating, freezing, uncomfortable and ridiculous process but I have finally found how to not tear my hair out on flights. I know what I look like bald and it’s worth a little extra work to prevent the tearing out of my hair, trust me.
"Fancy German chocolates are the reason one Israeli child is still alive after announcing for the 2391827439283rd time that he was “bored” and making the word bored sound like it had eight or more syllables."
ReplyDeleteFunny! I just don't see how you can stand flapjack, but that's a matter of taste, I guess. When I go into one of those British isles' bakery aisles, it's going to be either toffee shortbread or eccles cakes for me.
You do a fine job with tone, with detail, with expertise, with offering visuals, with loathing smelly people, with unpacking not just the duffel but also the whole desperate business of getting across the Atlantic in steerage class without dying of boredom, starvation, or a shoot-out with air marshals sparked by being wedged between two creepy, smelly, fat old men.
You understand so well what I have such a hard time convincing some students of: that to dig deeply into a tiny thing (as you do here) is fascinating and fun, whereas to range widely over a big thing (meaning of life, existence of god, exploration of personal spirituality) is almost always a non-starter.
Is that your problem with week 10--feeling that you have to deal with something 'big'? You don't!
Spot on. That's definitely a large part of why I had a hard time getting into week 10. Everything "big" has been done so much that it all felt too stale.
ReplyDeleteI really enjoy the small things in life and it is certainly my preference to write about pieces of the big picture. Like my famous tooth brushing piece - it's not always easy to write but I like the end result.
It depends on the flapjack I suppose. And part of it may be because I found a brand-name of "Kate's Cakes." I can't talk about British sweets right now though. I'm jonessin' !
Thank you for always putting so much effort into the feedback. I'm always grateful and amused by your comments.