Take to the Skies - Part 2

 by the Wanz

(Ah-haha, so I’m transcribing this from my notebook in a café since I actually wrote this second entry on my plane ride home a little less than a week ago. Scribbled to the left of the title is a reminder note from myself that I was “seated beside the worlds’ two smallest adult bladders!” But I digress, back to the actual entry…)

The preparations one endures to get to a flight on time are tale enough. Once you’ve gotten to the gate (and if the plane is still there) then you’ve reached a major checkpoint in the game we call “flying.” Now, the second half is pretty much just endurance of people, your environment, and of course, airplane food (the deadliest digestional game). It’s time for Part Two – In-Flight Entertainment:

Before delving into boarding, we’re going to take a step back and touch on the deadly abyss known as flight delays (i.e.: the übersuck of flying). These delays intensify the whole waiting process and potentially screw over flyers who need to catch connection flights. They are, again, the übersuck, since they occur for countless and sometimes unexplainable reasons (late flights, mysterious mechanical issues, weather, black holes, etc.) and you never really know how long it’ll take or how it will impact your trip (the horror!!)  and it’ll inevitably bring out the crazy in the already stressed out flyers-to-be.

Anywho, onto boarding – the final line! (Well, until the de-boarding process anyway.) It’s kinda an epic moment…. That and an epic clusterfuck! Depending on the airlines, boarding lines occur differently (some with boarding groups, some have lines, it’s kinda whatever) but the same always occurs; the amoeba-effect. Everyone gets up from their seats and clumps together so that when they are allowed to board, they can be the first in line—even if they are in the last group (no one wants to be the last person in the last group to board the plane, right?)—cause you want to be first in line to get your seat on the plane and… what? Sit for 2-12 hrs? in the same place? with minimal moving?! It’s the epic, linear conclusion before the in-flight entertainment kicks-in. And the people who sneak ahead of their group, well dressed, uptight, and with a faux-sense of entitlement—to the back of the line they go!!

After getting to your seat (and upon seeing if there’s overhead bin space) you get to know those seated beside and around you. This is more random than the freshman year roommate lottery. Everyone (except for those few) flies and there’s no way to foresee who you’re trapped besides. Sometimes you have a talker beside you (probably scared of flying so they turn to talking to distract themselves). Sometimes you have the hardworker, who brought their whole office onboard with them. Sometimes you’re by the parents of a Fly’nCry (a crying newborn baby who, maybe, shouldn’t be flying yet). Then there’s the creeper married dude chatting it up with the flight attendants or a lady (not wife) seated next to him. Occasionally you may even be seated beside a nun, and feel overly awkward for those unreligious types. Then there are the over-frequent urinators (spoiler alert: they’re always in the middle or window seat). It’s a random casting of character. There’s a chance you may make a friend, have a civil conversation, maybe join the mile high club, y’know, whatever, no big deal. Good things can happen. Then there are flights akin to torture-by-air. And there are always the uneventful flights—those, in m opinion, are the best. J

And then, there’re the flight attendants. I have a good friend who became a flight attendant and I do work in costumer service and know a large chunk of the service industry in Tacoma, so I have some sympathy toward those who work flights. I usually don’t find myself over-chatty with them (as there are a lot of customers to tend to), but I appreciate them all the same. BUT I have had some who ignore me due to age or race or socio-economic-seating—which, even if you have your bad days, we still call that discrimination by the way—and in this instance, I will briefly illustrate my personal favorite and most hated encounters:

Coolest Flight Attendant – My friends and I were returning to Tacoma after a delightful gay old time in San Francisco (gay pride weekend). We were pretty pooped and wanted to drink and then intensely sleeeeeep. Before we even left the terminal, we heard the cries of a crying baby unleashed. This must have been a future opera singer or some shit because this baby was on the loudest and longest cry-a-thon I’d ever heard. My friend hates kids, so naturally the crying baby agitated her, but the parent with the kid was barely doing anything. We’d exchanged glances with each other, with other passengers nearby, and all we had the same WHATTHEFUCK look. Then came on my favorite flight attendant, who walked by the wailing baby and cringed as though her ears had been physically assaulted. It happened a few times, each time my friend and I chuckled. She even gave the parent some advice as to how to handle the crying machine. And when she had to do her safety demo of how to put on your seat belt and such, we erupted in laughter: she stood beside It Who Cried A Lot, attempting to focus on emergency procedures and maintaining her calm, but the tiny thing producing an unreal amount of noise was totally out-performing her, drowning out her demo. So, she just stopped, looked at all of us, blinking, sharing our WTF expression, heavily sighed, and shook her head. But she didn’t say anything, not a word, she just took a deep breath, gave what could only be a pain-filled smile, and kept shaking her head as she finished her demo. Priceless. My friend and I spoke to her later, just thanking her for feeling our shared frustration. She told us this was the end of her day and this was her flight home, so the three of us were in the same, wailing-filled boat.

Douchiest Flight Attendant, EVER – This was years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in the emergency exit row (there was my row and a row behind me). I was 21 at the time and with a fresh fly haircut (used to rock a magnificent afro, so I had turned over a “professional leaf” that year and get it cut) and even trimmed the beard—naturally so fresh and so clean-clean. Even with the clean-up, I probably still looked a little older than 21. As I’m sitting and waiting for the flight attendants to talk to us about our capability and responsibilities in the emergency exit row, I eavesdropped on what this attendant is saying to an elderly woman seated behind us. In the middle of his spiel, he stops and asks her if she can properly hear him. Offended, she says yes, she can and he goes off into the importance of if she doesn’t think she can follow along with the intricacies of his directions, then he’ll have to move her. She reassurances him (still highly offended) that she’s fine. Once he finishes, he comes to us and does his whole “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth”-thing to us and then I notice him staring at me and he asks if I’m old enough to be seated in the emergency exit row. I kinda blank on how old I’m suppose to be, but I’ve flown in that row before for a few years, so I tell him I’m 21 and he shoots me the snootiest, most skeptical look like he wanted to ID me. After he leaves, I check the instruction book to see the minimum age requirement: 14 years old. That muthafucker. Douchiest. Attendant. EVER.

Ah, turbulence, it’s like the invisible companion on every flight. People handle it differently. Some with the slightest tremble will have flashbacks to LOST, Final Destination, or even Fight Club and envision the plane falling apart and foresee themselves plummeting to the ground. Some take Benadryl (that’s my joint!) with some liquor to avoid consciousness (not doctor recommended). Some cling onto their neighbor with dear life, even if it’s their first time meeting. Many frequent flyers just make sure they’re tightly fastened and hope that the drink on their tray doesn’t tip and short out their laptop or DVD player. The bravest of people are those who fly in SMALL planes because you feel it soooo much more and you have those life-flashing-before-your-eyes kinda moments. Anyone who does that and on a regular basis… well, you’re ballsier than I…

In-flight pastime is kinda similar to the waiting period, but you see the full fledge of resources that people bring. You aren’t equipped with outlets or an endless array of liquor or space. Time is draining and life becomes compact. People who’re previously hooked into their laptop or phone slowly pull out books, or… other electronic devices (ipods, kindles). Some manage to make friends with their neighbors. Some joyfully drug themselves to sleep (ftw!). Some work, some write, some enjoy the highly edited movies or shows on their in-flight entertainment venue. But sometimes you run outta batteries, outta juice, outta liquor, outta pages, outta conversation topics, and you find yourself just, with yourself, waiting. Or napping. But there’s a LOT of waiting… worse than Godot…

And then we reach journey’s end, when electronics go away, tray tables go up and seats must return to their upright position. I find it almost soothing, though many get anxious as we descend and the plane gets rattley and people want to scream “AAHHHH!!!! Fear of impending doom!” because of the dropping sensation. J I mean, the planes does a lot of turning, circling, and noticing that the small toy-like cities are getting bigger, more detailed, noticing ant-sized lights zipping back and forth and the reality that you’re almost there kicks in (unless you are catching a connecting flight). But you start to ponder important queries like “Am I gonna swap digits with the cute person I sat next to?” or “Wonder if my ride’s gonna be on time?” or “Did the airport lose my luggage again for the 3^rd time this year?” or “I wonder if I should’ve packed a jacket?” and then suddenly—VROOOOM!!! The screeching wheels hit the ground, the plane bounces slightly but (hopefully) comes to a soul-chilling stop. You’ve landed! No explosion! Hurray! Cue: reach for your cell phone.

For those with baggage (still physical, not emotional) hitting up the carousel at the end is akin to the closing credit sequence of this, your epic journey in flying. You see people’s luggage, their families, and loved ones, or those just willing enough to pay for parking, and for the most part, everyone is relieved. Is it because of the people their meeting and the places they’re going? Maybe!! OR it’s about the fact that the fuckin’ flight is fiiiiinally over (unless you’re catching a connecting flight, or if you’re baggage is missing, or if your ride forgot you, or--)

I mean, nope! It’s done. You’re done. Journey’s end. Or at least it is for this blogger.

If you have your own tales in in-flight entertainment and flying and douchey flight attendants, share it with us either on our blog or our twitter account at https://twitter.com/LifeInTransitTJ or send us an email at LifeInTransitTJ@gmail.com and we may post your message / picture!!