OK, so...I don't like flying.

Amazing, isn't it?

I have a hatbox that I keep my airline ticket stubs in-they'll all in there since I started collecting them, late 2000. I've been on many, many flights the past 7 years. Hundreds, definitely. I might have even reached the thousand mark. I don't say this boastfully, as the majority of those flights are business flights, which usually saw me with my eyeballs burned into my skull, trips that went from airport to taxi to hotel to office to taxi to airport. It just is.

So it's surprising to hear that I dread flying. Dread it. It's exhausting, soul-sucking, and I am one nervous chick. I read a book once on surviving an airline crash with religious dedication (the answer: if the plane just falls from the sky, as happens sometimes, then you're a goner for the sole reason that your heart explodes. True. Forensics show that although the body-once it hits ground-stops moving, the heart has nothing "holding it in one place", as it were. Your heart hits your ribcage and goes kaput, thanks to physics (isn't this the one where things fall at the rate of 8 meters per second square? I dunno. I failed physics.)

I employ all the tactics-dress better in case of upgrade potential (that has worked before.) Count the number of rows between you and the fire exit. Sit no more than 7 rows away from an exit (statistics show that your chances of survival in a "survivable crash" are non-existent if you sit more than 7 rows from an exit. Now, I am a generally giving, caring person, but should that plane go down I swear I'm rushing for the door good luck to you.) I have an evacuation plan with Angus prepared, should the plane go down and we're travelling with his kids. We pre-book our seats strategically, so that seats around us will be open (works, too, unless the flight is full.)

As we were flying on ym dad's airline, my dad would maybe have helped us with an upgrade, so we tried to be positive.

No such luck.

I asked the guy at the counter, who looked at me. "Is your father the president of the company or on the board of directors?" he asked.

Say yes! Screamed my mind.

"No," said my honest mouth.

"Then I'm really sorry. It's booked up. We can re-arrange people if your parents are board members, but otherwise your seats are the best we can do."

Honesty sucks sometimes.

Our flight to Atlanta was-without question-the worst flight I've ever been on in my life (and not only have I flown Air Garuda and lived to tell the tale, but I was once on a flight that hit an air pocket on landing, sending a wing into the lake just past the runway. I know this, as I was sitting at the window seat overlooking the wing. I may have screamed, but mine wasn't the only one.)

We got put in the middle row-Angus on the end, me in the middle.

Plus the DVD rack for the in-flight entertainment was below the seat in front of me, so I had no leg room.

There was a massive group of women travelling, all with babies, as some kind of tour group. Every last one of the women and their babies were seated around us. Picture a circle of babylessness and put us in the middle of it and you'll understand. And every single one of those babies did not want to be on the plane (to be fair, I felt very sorry for the parents. As I clearly am not a mother, despite my best efforts, I know it must be embarrassing to have your kid causing a ruckus on the plane. My sympathies are with the mothers, although seriously, being in a tin can with 10 screaming babies is hard to take.)

But that wasn't the worst.

The worst? We sat next to the English equivalent of the Clampetts.

I shit you not.

The mother was the sane one of the bunch. She had two adult kids with her-the son who wore a long greasy ponytail and thought a monobrow was the new black. Her husband had decided that shaving, as well as cutting his hair, went out in the late 70's, maybe earlier. His clothes were all black, and all in bad shape-I'm not knocking clothes that are comfy and have the odd hole in them, heck that's my daily wear at home-the "home" part being the key there. He weighed easily into the 300-zone, yet his jeans were made for someone in the mid-200 range.

But it was the daughter.

Oh my God.

She wore tinted specs. Tinted. Specs. And people are always saying Americans are loud, but they need to meet her. I'm pretty sure the captain on the flight deck heard her reply to the "chicken or pasta" question.

And her things were stored in the cabin over Angus' head, so when she needed something-as she did every 6-7 minutes-she stood up, reached for it...

...and her midriff revealing top showed the rivers and mounds of flesh right next to Angus' head.

Now, I'm not having a go at people who are overweight (although I'm no thin chick myself, but this is why I don't wear midriff revealing tops. I'm not thin enough for that.) I don't want someone's stomach-flat or flabby-inches from my face every few minutes. Unless that person is someone I'm shagging on a very regular basis, I don't want anyone's stomach near me. Maybe I'm weird, or not of the Playboy/Playgirl frame of mind, but stomachs freak me out (and under no circumstances are they called "bellies" or "tummies". Those words are squicky.)

So yeah. Babies crying, Spec Chick shouting and flashing us, and no leg room. Plus my remote would randomly decide that I should be tired of whatever film I was watching and would turn itself to All About Eve. I can't be sure, but I think that's a message.

When the flight finally landed-late-I stared at the Clampetts. Monoboy had decided a center part for his ponytail would accent the hairy forehead. Mom looked like she needed a drink. Spec Chick was exclaiming in her loud voice that she didn't want to fly on a long flight again ever. And Dad? He was covered in crumbs, all down his shirt front. As he stood in the queue ahead of me to get off the plane, I realized with horror that he was not, in fact, covered with crumbs.

It was dandruff, falling from him like gentle Ally Sheedy snow.

I recoiled, and thought: Dear God, they're going to have to burn the seats.

We lope to our next gate to catch our flight to Atlanta. I was so pleased to see that the Spec Chick family would not be accompanying us. We were free of them.

The babies, however, were all on our flight.

In volume.

You knew you were in for it when there was a silence. It wasn't silence. It was that moment when a baby is inhaling for God and society to launch a real ear cruncher. The pattern was: Cry, cry, cry......silence. Silence. Silence. END OF THE WORLD SCREAM. Lather, rinse, repeat.

By the end of the flight, though, the babies had passed out. One mother across from me sat there, dazed. Her baby was asleep on her, and the mom? One of her boobs was hanging out, the nipple winking at me. The mom looked down, saw the boob, realized that putting the boob away would wake the baby up, and left it.

I supported her decision.

When we landed, we felt shattered. We picked up our rental car, went to the hotel, had a glass of wine, and passed clean out.

More on Atlanta soon.

-H

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 03:22 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 1324 words, total size 7 kb.

1 Ye gods, woman... and you're still ALIVE?

Posted by: sue at November 08, 2006 04:49 PM (WbfZD)

2 I can only imagine the Spec Chick as saying, "YEAHBUTNOBUTYEAHBUTNO" all the time.

Posted by: Sir Henry at November 08, 2006 05:05 PM (KcrOI)

3 have you ever been on a flight with someone cutting their fingernails? because i have! and having been on only 3 flights in my life, i have to wonder if this is a common occurance. also, you deserve some sort of medal for putting up with all those babies crying. i would have jumped.

Posted by: geeky at November 08, 2006 05:25 PM (ziVl9)

4 I HATE flying. Hate it with a passion. Even with drugs, I can't.stop.thinking about every little bump and sound. Thank God the one Atlantic crossing flight I've been on was wonderful (I'm a big fan of Virgin because of that). I hope the visit was worth the flight.

Posted by: Donna at November 08, 2006 05:43 PM (Aanzg)

5 Wow, you're so my hero for coming out of that alive.. and for leaving your traveling companions alive as well. I probably would have OD'd on dramamine trying to knock myself out!

Posted by: Erin at November 08, 2006 05:44 PM (zw8QA)

6 Comparable to my worst day of travelling ever. But then it was a two year old who was screaming because his ears were under pressure and his mom didn't speak English so I couldn't tell her. Oh, yeah, and he threw up on me. What a day Well, you're back in your own house - enjoy it all the more, right?

Posted by: Hannah at November 08, 2006 07:43 PM (ImQx2)

7 Sorry about the crap flight but, "I recoiled, and thought: Dear God, they're going to have to burn the seats." and "You knew you were in for it when there was a silence." had me seriously laughing out loud! Fricken classic!

Posted by: Lee at November 08, 2006 10:32 PM (IptCj)

8 I love flying, and luckily I have never been on a flight like that one. If I had, I might change to one who hates flying.

Posted by: kenju at November 09, 2006 12:37 AM (L8e9z)

9 Gravity dictates that everything falls at a rate of 9.8 meters per second squared. It's one of the few things I remember from Physics. That, and f=ma. Force is mass times acceleration. So the force at which your heart slams into your ribcage would be the weight of the heart itself times 9.8 meters per second squared. And the answer is "ouch." I don't like flying either. I'm all about the CANDIES when I fly.

Posted by: Ms. Pants at November 09, 2006 03:37 PM (r6SJw)

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