It’s Not You. It’s Me.

I might be an asshole.

(SPOILER: No, I am not breaking up with Andrew through this blog – but, that would be funny – and make me an asshole).

Whenever Andrew flies, he has a mostly uneventful trip (save not realizing that having a Global Entry status does not mean that he gets to carry metal through the metal detector – it took him three times through on his last trip to remove his money clip, belt and nipple rings to safely pass through). Whenever I fly, it takes about 10 seconds for something blog-worthy to happen.

It started in line. The woman in front of me overheard me humming (read: singing loudly). When I took a breath she looked at me and said “Oh, don’t stop singing.” Immediately, I felt the need to both stop singing so as not to be a show-off, and to continue singing so as not to upset her. She, easily made my mind up which to choose –  apparently she felt her interrupting my singing to tell me to not stop singing was an open opportunity for her to start chattering at me as though we were friends and as though I cared that she thought TSA was irritating or that her Las Vegas trip for work is getting less and less fun – I opted to continue singing.

Once past the TSA, I went to Starbucks. There were 4 people behind the counter. Only two of them appeared to be doing any work – both of them together at the speed of one person. Luckily, I had forgotten to check-in online with Southwest until that morning, so even though it was almost time for my flight to board I was in Z-section for seating selection. I made it to the gate with time to spare and my triple breve latte – the latter being most important.

I was, literally, the last passenger to board a full flight.

The passenger just ahead of me says to the flight attendant, “Will I need to check my bag at this point?” And I thought, “Really dude, STFU*.”

“Yes,” she said, without even checking.

“Shit,” I thought (read: said loudly).

“Are you sure there is no more room on there?” I ask.

“Yep.” Not even a glance onto the plane as she fills out my baggage claim tag.

I got on the plane and into the 6th row middle seat. The people on either side of me were like the bread at a sub shop – I, the meat. But, as I was sitting down I noticed the overhead bin across from me had a spot big enough for my bag.

“Hold it. Let me off. I want my bag on the plane with me.” I pushed through the people still getting settled (even though I had been the LAST ONE on the plane – seriously, people – STFD**). I got back to the jetway and grabbed my bag as a flight attendant followed me out and back on, “If it weren’t for you guys and your bags I could probably get the flights out quicker,” she muttered in the same way that I “only thought” shit, above.

“Yeah, it’s a damn shame we need our clothes and stuff when we get to our destinations.” I sniped back.

“We have free baggage check.”

“I like my luggage to get to where I am going at the same time as me.”

(see what I mean – I am kind of a bitch).

It then took me about 7 minutes to struggle with the horizontal-reverse-Jenga puzzle of overhead bins while the flight attendant smirked at me from the front of the plane not in the least inclined to assist (not that I blame her) despite her desire to get the flight moving on time.

I finally sat down in my middle seat when I realized that my coffee had moved through me rather rapidly and I really had to visit the lavatory. I was about to unbuckle as the pilot, through some sort of voodoo-ESP stated over the intercom. “We are going to take off now. You may not use the lavatory at this time. Don’t ask the flight attendants for permission, because they cannot give it to you. Stay in your seat.”

In my head I also heard, “Especially you, Hadas. Especially you!”

After an interminable amount of time the bell dinged, the seatbelt came off and I got into the aisle from my middle seat just slowly enough to be beat out by a geriatric woman in the second row who, by her rate of speed, had probably been getting out of her seat since we’d been taxiing.

I went to sit back down and the guy in the aisle seat, knowing what I needed/wanted/had to have, still made me shuffle past him instead of giving me his seat for a minute so I could get to the bathroom more quickly next time (seriously dude, STFO***). Back in my seat I went.

It turns out the guy sitting next to me was super nice and as soon as he saw the bathroom door open he got up and blocked the aisle so I could go next. I am assuming his kindness was more focused on himself and the ramifications of me not making it to the potty on time, than it was based on anything I’d done to deserve the kindness. I thanked him profusely when I got back and tried to keep my head down the rest of the flight.

I may be a bad flyer. It may be because I am a little on edge about being in a giant heavy metal tube that is, you know, flying. So, if you happen to be flying near or with me, in advance, I am sorry. It’s not you. It’s me.

* Shut the F up

** Sit the F down

*** Shuffle the F over


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