I tend to have a love-hate relationship with flying and this weekend I had the pleasure of spending a total of roughly ten hours on planes and in airports. Despite the paralyzing fear I get when crammed into a small propeller plane with 15 equally terrified passengers, I genuinely enjoy people watching. While the stench of overwhelming fear lingered throughout the cabin as this tiny plane rumbled and bounced through 'a touch of bad weather' (which really felt like what I imagine my socks go through on tumble dry) I oddly found solace in watching the middle aged businessman with a bad comb-over across the aisle begin to perspire...in buckets. Let's call him Rogaine for easy reference. Now, I normally wouldn't succumb to such schadenfreude-like tendencies but this man had it coming. After nearly trampling me to get to his seat (mind you this is a propeller plane with a grand total of 7 rows of seating headed towards a storm- not everyone is clamoring to get into this deathtrap) he managed to smack me upside my head with his briefcase. So now that Rogaine is seated, he snaps his fingers at the stewardess demanding a drink (the duration of the flight is only forty-five minutes... THERE WILL NOT BE A BEVERAGE SERVICE). Told that there aren't any libations to be had, he begins huffing and grumbling under his breath (sir, we are all in the same boat, pipe down).
Flash forward to roughly 15 minutes before landing: I am jostled awake to see veiny fingers of lightning flash outside the tiny egg-shaped window to my right. Apparently I am a heavy sleeper and missed the first five minutes of pants-wetting turbulence. While I don't particularly like turbulence, and electrical storms while packed in an airplane the size of a cigar, Rogaine clearly is more distraught than I am. Had he not been rather rude during the first part of the flight, his complete and total meltdown over the turbulence made me feel like a little justice had been served. Rogaine's comb-over is now plastered to his head and beads of sweat are running down his face. He has even unloosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Other passengers begin to turn green (I feel like I'm in the scene from 'Rat Race' where John Cleese makes a bet with all of the other flight passengers to see who will vomit first as his pilot violently whips the plane around). One more drop and even my stomach is in my throat... at this point Rogaine has his head between his knees. Some teenage boy three rows back (unaware of any other passengers' potential horror movie repertoire) says a little too loudly "This is like Final Destination!," a horrible and very poorly timed movie reference.This is when the flight attendant reminds us that our seat cushions may be used as a flotation device (a whole lot of good that will do seeing as we are over NORTH CAROLINA AND TENNESSEE). At that moment the otherwise silent grandfatherly figure -replete with plaid, flannel shirt- sitting next to me says "Well I guess we can all hug our knees and kiss our asses goodbye."
Thankfully our plane somehow managed to land on the runway shortly after this episode. I will never take a U.S. Airways "Sprint" Shuttle ever again, if I have any say in the matter.
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