Xanax Snacks

Admittingly, I trust Delta a little bit too much. I actually feel like I have a personal relationship with Delta. For example, it sort of bothers me when people fly other airlines. Weird, I know. I like them for many reasons and one is that I believe that they will not fly me somewhere if the conditions are not safe. That being said, I drove all the way to the airport and walked up to the gate on the Monday when Hurricane Irma was rolling through. I trusted that they would cancel if the conditions were not safe. As I got all the way down to D1, they cancelled.  See? Good relationship.

This situation reminded me of another bloggable flight I had a few months ago on the way to Knoxville. It was a pretty rainy day, but planes were still taking off successfully. Being the short flight that is was, we loaded onto one of the little baby planes, the ones with no first class, four seats in Comfort and two seats on each side of the aisle. I was in a window seat next to what appeared to be a fairly normal lady. Let’s call her Scaredy Catherine. As we settled in, I did my normal OCD tray table, seatbelt buckle and arm rest Clorox wipe down. As I finished, I noticed that Scaredy Catherine seemed a little bit panicky. Though I wasn’t in a chatting mood, I am still empathetic by nature, so I asked her if she was ok.

She looked over at me with tears in her eyes and told me she was scared to death to fly in this weather. I tried to reassure her and tell her it would be ok. I referenced back to my personal relationship with Delta. I also reminded her that she could hop off the plane and rent a car. In three short hours, she would be in the Big Orange. Instead she decided to tough through it. Bad Decision.

As we take off, Scaredy Catherine is gripping the arm rest. Thank Heavens I wiped it down for her. You could see her veins bulging through her meaty little hands. In her defense, this flight was pretty intense. The pilot came on the intercom moments after take-off and told us that we would not be able to get above the clouds so the trip would be rocky. When she heard this, she about lost it. I decided to pull out my notebook and start handwriting a script in an effort to make her think everything was all good. Deep inside, I was a little spooked myself. We hit a big patch of turbulence and she let go of the armrest and gripped my hand. Scaredy Catherine’s hand was soaked. This gal was genuinely terrified. The gal across the aisle from her, we can call her Xanax Girl, was a bit scared too. She took out her Xanax and decided to take one.

This is where they story gets good. Scaredy Catherine spots the Xanax, and I felt like I knew what was coming. She looks over to Xanax Girl and asked if she could have some. Still holding Scaredy Catherine’s hand, I asked her “do you normally take Xanax?” “Never,” she said. Hmmmmm….. I opted to keep my opinions to myself on this one. Xanax Girl tips the bottle of pills out for Scaredy Catherine and I see two little white pills in her hand. She looked at me, looked at the pills and looked in her bag for water. I said “I don’t have any water. Sorry.” She said “me either”. I was fired up to see what was going to happen next. She does one final look around before she pops the pills into her mouth and starts CRUNCHING them with her teeth. I asked her if it would have been more reasonable to build up some saliva and attempt to swallow them in that manner. She looked at me squinting from the extreme medicinal taste that comes with chewing Xanax. She said “I am hoping that by chewing it, it will work faster.” She actually had a decent point. For 15 minutes more she held my hand tightly while I attempted to write my script with one hand and a mechanical pencil. The flight continues to be insanely uncomfortable and I notice her hand loosing up just a bit. I turn my head and notice she is snoozing- passed straight out. We finish the flight with a terrible landing which abruptly woke her up, but again Delta got us there safely. Sweet Scaredy Catherine hugged me as we off-boarded the plane. She said “thanks for your help. I don’t fly often.” This was not shocking news to me.

Remember to always clean your tray tables!

 

First Classless

I think the Travel Blog Gods were among me when I decided to write this blog. Since I started Dirty Tray Tables last week, I have not had one single flight, Sky Club visit or Uber that was not interesting. Last Thursday, I was traveling from my hotel to my meeting with a coworker. The Uber driver got out to load our suitcases into his trunk. When we looked down we noticed, he was only wearing one shoe, and he acted like that was not odd at all. He loaded our bags, opened our doors and we were on our way. What I don’t understand is why he would wear one shoe? I say go all or nothing- wear both or embrace your inner hippie and wear none.  ShUber for the win!

As the day continued, it got even better. After my meeting, I headed on to the next town. If I am not in first class, I am typically the last to board the flight. I see no reason for me to race onto the plane when I can knock out 30 minutes of work or another Sky Club Chardonnay during boarding time. This day; however, I was first class, so I loaded up with the rest of the Fancy Pants. I was assigned to seat 4B which meant there were twelve other Fancy Fliers in front of me and two others to the side of me. As I was boarding, I noticed a situation boiling.

Main Character #1- There was a man in 4C, let’s call him “Charleston”. He was wearing nicely pressed khakis, those cute loafers with the little knobs on the heel with no socks, a belt with some sort of embroidered palm tree or fish on it, right leg crossed so that foot just barely crosses into the aisle, brown hair that was professionally longer and sporting a strong pastel dress shirt. I would imagine on the weekends he frequents low country boils and a variety of trendy brunch spots on King Street.

Main Character #2- There was a man boarding First Class right in front of me, seat unknown. Let’s call him “Dude”. Dude was wearing scraggly jeans, the kind with the extra big pockets and the hammer holders. The bottoms of them were frayed in the back due to them being too long. He was wearing black shoes with black laces, not sneakers but not dress shoes either; I don’t have a term for those types of shoes. His T-shirt was black with concert dates on the back, and you could tell it had been washed a couple hundred times. He sported a ball cap and was still wearing his sunglasses, the kind that have thick arms and wrap tightly to the face. His hair was short, but he was due for one of those mid haircut neck clean ups.

Charleston was settled in and fiddling on his iPad. I was in line behind Dude. Dude had a normal sized roller-board suitcase with a whole bunch of unnecessary straps flapping around and 3 of the bag tags you fill out when you check in your bag. Charleston was minding his own business when Dude started aggressively trying to jam his suitcase in the overhead bin. Mind you, this was First Class; there were plenty of open spaces for bags. He continues making a touch of a scene banging and huffing and making noise. Charleston removes his expensive sound-reducing headphones and politely said, “Hey man, need any help?” Dude came completely unglued! He started banging his bag and Charleston’s bag around. He said aggressively to Charleston “Maybe if your bag was TSA regulation size we wouldn’t be dealing with this situation (insert a line of bad words here). Charleston then stands up and starts to rearrange, and right before my eyes Dude shoves Charleston out of the way and continues to berate him about his bag size. Charleston remained calmer than I would have- classy southern upbringings I guess.

This is where I come into the story. Seeing as I ALWAYS check my bag, I tapped Dude on the shoulder. “Dude, I just have a backpack. Why don’t you put your bag in the WIDE OPEN bin above my seat?” Dude complied. Charleston was back in his seat, fancy headphones on, leg back crossed. Dude was settled down a bit with bag stored. Dude finally pulls out his phone to find his seat. He taps on Charleston’s shoulder and says “that’s my seat” pointing to the seat right next to him. What are the chances??? The awkwardness was too much for me to handle on a 2.5 hour flight, so I looked at the Dude and said (in my “I used to be a teacher” voice) “why don’t you take my seat, and I will sit in between the two of you. After all, I don’t mind a middle seat since I don’t have very broad shoulders”. Charleston was very thankful, and I spend the next 2.5 hours sitting in between Hatfield and McCoy.  As my dad always says “There is simply no substitute for class, first class in this case.”