I
remember actually dressing up to go on an airplane trip. We’d plan our outfits
the night before, and get up in time to primp properly, because my mom always
told us that we should look nice when traveling on a plane. It was a special
occasion. Now, sweats, comfy jeans and even pajama bottoms seem to be the
style of choice, probably because the planes are filthy, uncomfortable, and
let’s face it, flying is not much of a treat anymore. Back in the day, it was
an elegant and privileged adventure, with hot meals served to everyone…..on
real porcelain plates and with real stainless steel utensils (including
knives). The upbeat and friendly stewardesses – who are now called flight
attendants - would give us packages of cards, plush blankets, gold wing pins,
and sometimes even goodie bags with special pens and activity books. Most
flights, we were invited into the cockpit – which is now called the flight deck
- to visit with the pilots and see them at work. Often we’d be allowed to press
the speaker button when they wanted to make an announcement or sometimes even
put on headphones to listen to the air traffic controllers. I remember even
wearing the captain’s cap on one occasion. These days I assume there are pilots up there, but rarely, if ever, do I see
them. There is no personal connection, other than a brief introduction on the
PA, which makes the loss of control and comfort even harder for people with
(ahem) control issues….
And
during the hay days of travel, when that seatbelt sign would go off, the
clearly audible and uniform clicking sound of everyone unbuckling would signal
social time. People would spring up and roam the aisles, cigarettes in one
hand, and their free rum and coke in the other, as they chatted, joked and mingled
with their fellow travelers.
Those
were the days.
Today,
I’m on an airplane that is so small and stuffed it makes factory farming
quarters look roomy. I am sitting at the very last seat that doesn’t recline
because it is up against the wall of the noisy and reeking toilet – um….lavatory. They guy in front of me does have a seat that reclines, however,
and he is taking full advantage of the extra few inches he gains through
leaning back….because the person in front of him is reclining and infringing
upon his knee room….because the person in front of her is also reclining….etc.
I am the unfortunate soul who just happens to be at the end of the dominos of
reclining seats. It’s the end of the
line for me. The back stops here.
And even though I’m on an aisle (which is more the width of a balance beam),
I am unable to stick out my lengthy leg due to the fact that there seems to be
a steady flow of desperate people standing almost on top of me as they wait for
the smelly toilet to my left. For god’s sake. It is only a 2-hour flight.
Could we not hydrate just this one
time? I bet half of the 70 people on board have ventured to the loo so far.
I’m thinking of paying off the flight attendant to stop serving liquid....
Anyhow,
I keep my knee pressed into the seat in front of me, and my feet tucked
uncomfortably under the seat….because who knows what mayhem may befall this
poor heard if I were to accidentally trip someone into someone else….who would
knock a plastic cup of water over onto someone else…..whose hot coffee would
bump out of her hand onto the leg of the person she doesn’t even know….who is
squished up beside her….and can’t get out to clean up….because there is no room
and the seat belt sign is on…..? So, scarf over my face to diffuse the
unusually horrible smell coming from behind me, and knees pressed into the back
of the man in front of me, I try to look at the positive. At least there’s no
baby beside me…..
Yes,
they are cute, but they’re not mine, and so I don’t want the things pulling at
my hair or spitting teething biscuits into my face. It’s usually what happens,
and experience has shown me that the less attention you give to the little rug
rats, the more they will attempt to get it. Being that we are in an era of
explaining everything to kids and not saying ‘no’, it usually takes the entire
flight of negotiations for the parent to finally convince the 18 month old to
leave the unfriendly and boring lady beside them alone. If they’d only let me,
I could explain things a lot easier….
In any case, it’s difficult for parents to control their trill seeking, energy
bundles these days since they can’t chase them up and down the aisle anymore,
and because the little whippersnappers aren’t allowed to bring the ultimate
favored and reliable toddler restraint mechanism either; The car seat. God,
I loved those things on planes. The five-point harness ensured the kid
couldn’t escape, making words like “Stay
in your seat, Sweety!” make every parent look like they were in control.
That’s easy parenting. Nowadays, parents disembark a plane looking frazzled,
haggard and embarrassed, while people like myself try to soak up the graham
cracker baby spit with tiny non-absorbent acrid paper napkins. (By the way…why
do airplane napkins always smell like sour cream and ammonia?)
And
the ban on toddler tack is just one of the many new ‘policy changes’ and ‘FAA
regulations’ on planes today. During the rare moments I break out of my
self-induced protective zombie mode, I notice more and more finger wagging and
restrictions on every flight. This time, we were just told that the seat
pocket in front of us is not to be used for storage… Huh? What is it to be utilized
for then? Used gum? Apparently, it’s safer to hold your computer, book,
water bottle and magazines on your lap, than to have them snuggly secured in an
overly elasticized compartment. I can imagine during excessive turbulence or a
(gasp) crash landing all of us sardines holding tightly to our paraphernalia….and
screaming babies…. Would I really be concerned about my book and stainless
steel water bottle if we were going down, or would I toss the things in the air and worry about trying to get into the ‘crash’ position....? Which, by the
way, would be effectively impossible for me in the space provided, since on
this plane for Pygmy’s, leaning forward positions the bridge of my nose at the
top of the man’s greasy head in front of me.
But
I digress. As we begin our descent, I am told to power down my electronic
device…because typing while holding my computer is evidently more dangerous
than lightly balancing it on my cramped legs, and the energy emitted by my
screen is a hazard to the planes sensitive system. Frankly, I think the energy
emitted from the guy’s buttery head in front of me is more of a hazard than any
computer. Believe me, it’s scary…..and oh so close to my face. Clearly, I am
completely skeptical of the notion that my little laptop can affect equipment
in the cockpit. If that is the
case….I am never flying again, since no one actually verifies that everyone has indeed
‘powered down’. What if Helen left her stuff on? Does that mean we're doomed? It can’t be that delicate
of a system....right? Psaw!
And
now I’m wondering where the heck I put that tiny package of peanuts. I’m a
little afraid to approach the seat pocket in front of me for a couple of reasons: 1) There could be some used gum in there, and 2) My actions may be
misinterpreted, and I could be sited by the air marshal on board…..who could literally be
the slick guy in front of me.
Good God. Terra Firma is more than just a rock band to me....
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