Flying

Before I begin, let me state for the record that I HATE flying. Human beings were never meant to sit in such cramped conditions for such long periods of time with obscene amounts of overstuffed luggage hovering mere inches from their heads all while breathing the recycled air of passengers who clearly have tuberculosis otherwise why would they be hacking their lungs out in that consumptive way. It's cruel and unusual to put seats so close together that every armrest becomes a battleground, tray tables resemble torture devices, and reclining passengers sit with their heads in each other's laps. At the start of each flight, passengers must submit to a robotic review of useless safety instructions whose sole purpose is to distract passengers from the almost certain death they face should an emergency requiring these safety measures arise. Then begins an ear-popping climb which causes babies and sinus sufferers to weep. You can only pray there won't be stomach-lurching turbulence.

Once cruising altitude is reached, you are now "free" to move about the cabin. This means, that should you want to get up from your seat, you must hurdle several disputed armrests and irreversibly bent knees placing either your posterior or your belly in awkward proximity to the innocent faces of other passengers. Then you must navigate an aisle designed for Barbie-like stewardesses avoiding the protruding elbows of fellow passengers while playing a complicated game of chicken with annoyed flight attendants and unstable beverage carts. Once again, you can only pray that a sudden burst of turbulence doesn't land you face down in the narrow aisle or sitting on another passenger's lap.

Should you need to use the plane's facilities while taking your stroll around the plane, you must stand in line behind several passengers all trying casually to not do the bathroom dance in front of the captive audience of the unlucky back-of-the-plane passengers. When your turn comes you can only hope to hold your breath long enough to do your business and escape the complicated folding doors of the bathroom. I am terrified of being stuck in the broom closet known as the airplane bathroom. If the door doesn't give after a few seconds I start wondering if I should begin banging in a panicked fashion on the door all while screaming for help to be heard over the roar of the engines. I often come out of the bathroom flushed and gasping for air looking like an escaped prisoner. Truly, our prison system has nothing on the airplane bathroom. Even the most hardened cons would snap after a short time in those tiny, smelly rooms.

I could go on to describe spilled drinks with way too much ice, ear-popping descents, and a braking system that produces G's similar to those used to test astronauts, but I've had enough.

We made it home safely from California with only a few minor delays. We took a red-eye thinking the kids would sleep through the flights. They did...mostly. We didn't! Somewhere 31000 feet over the US of A I started feeling a tickle in my throat and nose. I got a cold but I will take that over what happened on my flight to California any day. My brother and I came up with a list on the way to the airport of things we would rather do than throw-up. I offered a root-canal or tooth extraction to the list. Apparently, my brother would rather lose a limb or be shot. When asked by my father to clarify what part of the body would take the shot, he immediately replied "Anywhere!" I think this means he would rather die than throw up. Since my sweet brother has like me, had the rare opportunity to use an airplane barf bag, I am going to take him at his word. Clearly the kid does not like throwing up.

As a side note, while we were sitting on the plane in LA waiting for everyone to board, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the sweet man who helped me when I was sick on the flight out. I almost jumped up and embraced him. I was so happy to see him and to get the chance to thank him again. He asked if I was feeling better and I asked him if he had gotten sick. Thankfully he hadn't. But he looked exhausted. I introduced him to Jason and tried to thank him a few more times. A line of passengers waiting to cram overstuffed carry-ons in to the overhead bins was starting to build behind him so we parted. I don't think he will ever know how much I appreciated his assistance on that awful flight out to California. I don't even know the name of the kind man who gave me a blessing on that same flight or the sweet flight attendant who put a cool rag and ice on my neck. I also don't know the name of the former nurse who offered to change Jane's diaper or the women who donated an unused pacifier to appease Jane. I can only pray that God blesses these good Samaritans for their kindness. I can only pray that I would do likewise in a similar situation.