Whacked in the Air

 

 

I woke up knowing I wanted to share this funny experience with you, no doubt due to the fact that someone dear to me is on an airplane today.

But, by the time I got to the computer (argh) I had forgotten what I wanted to share - and no amount of brain strain was bringing the thought back (double argh).

I got lucky though - someone on Facebook wrote about the opposite experience and I had a voila moment - I remembered that this is what I wanted to share.

Here it is (a blast from the past), I hope it brings up your (good) goofball traveling memories:

 

Airport Etiquette

I haven't flown much (or at all) in the past 30-some years. That changed this past summer when I went out to Portland to visit my friend Wendy.

And again when I went to Saluda, NC to be part of Barbara Sher's WriteSpeak retreat. Nevertheless - 6 flights isn't a lot of flying - so I wonder if these experiences are unique to me?!?

Going home from Portland I was dragging. I never sleep quite soundly in any bed that isn't my own beloved home-bed (no matter how comfy and delightful) - plus we'd been busy - so, like I said, I was dragging.

I lagged behind as Wendy speedwalked from the parking area. She even hoisted my ridiculously heavy backpack and carried it as far as she could go into the airport and I still lagged behind. What can I say? Wendy's a mover and I'm not.

When we reached the "get-the-hell-out-of-here-ye-without-tickets" spot inside the airport I hugged Wenders goodbye, grabbed my wheel-less enormosity of a backpack and went through the checking in stuff and on to finding my terminal (always the furthest from the airport entrance - how is that even possible?).

Aside: I (brilliantly) discovered wheeled luggage for the NC trip. Godbless the folks who came up with it! - actually, I had noticed the wheeled luggage earlier - just didn't get why it'd be a big deal - duh.

All the time I was dragging - and the d r a g was getting worse. Finally it was time to board the plane and I lifted the god-awful heavy backpack once again and trudged onto the plane.

Miles later, when I got to seat 306, I was really tired - it took every bit of strength I could muster to heave the outrageously heavy bag up and shove it into an overhead bin. Unfortunately I had to do this twice, because the first time didn't work.

Instead of launching the backpack right up into the overhead compartment I only hurled it part way -- and onto the head of a fellow passenger.

And here's where the airport etiquette comes in - the guy turned around and asked me if I was ok! Really! Before he even had time to feel for lumps he asked me if I was ok. And he asked emphatically - worriedly! I laughed out loud! I was so tired I could barely walk, wasn't much in the mood for talking - but LAUGHing I could still do and I did!!! Very energizing. I managed to squawk out: "It was you who just got beaned! Are YOU ok?" - no response - didn't seem to compute for him.

Continuing with the twisted etiquette - a few days ago I was on the first leg of the trip home from NC - boarding a tiny plane going from Asheville to Charlotte. It was almost take-off time and no one had come along to take the seat beside me - ahhhh.

But at the last minute an older gent (a larger, oldish gent - in a wale-less corduroy or crushed velvet jacket the color of which I can only call "puked wine" -- if I remember correctly - and wasn't hallucinating) ambled in and claimed the window seat (I was on the aisle).

He offered to take either seat, which was lovely - but wanting the aisle for this trip I gladly got up to let him get to his seat. Ouch! I hit my head on the roof of the plane (what I want to call the "bulkhead" - though I have no idea if that term is correct).

Immediately the older, interestingly dressed big guy said "I'm sorry." Fervently and sweetly. But it was as odd as the guy in the other plane who asked me if I was alright even though I was the one who hit him on the head with heavy luggage.

I laughed (again - I seem to love to laugh on airplanes) and reminded him of the obvious - he hadn't done a thing - I was the one who clumsily whacked my head. Then I went to sit down - and whacked my head again. And again he apologized, profusely this time. It was less amusing and I felt the need to explain that I am clumsy and he was not to blame. Jeez!

I'm left wondering - is this a thing? Is this airport etiquette? Maybe I need to test this out - take some more flights -- whack some more people with bags, smack my own noggen on a few more bulkheads...I'm not sure where I'd go with the research, but it'd be interesting to see if this is common on flights. Anyone out there have similar experiences? Any theories?

Comments

[Charlotte Dixon]

Whatever it is, it is wonderful. And next time you visit Wendy in Portland, you have to visit me, too. I'm jumping up and down at the mere thought.

[Square-Peg Karen]

Wouldn't we have fun, Charlotte!?! Oh YES!

[Linda]

I don't know about it just being airport etiquette, but I have to admit I'm an apologiser! I don't wear pukey wine coloured corduroy, but I am compelled to say sorry for things I haven't done - like when someone bashes into me or they drop things.

Just a thought - were your fellow travelers British by any chance....

[Square-Peg Karen]

Well, as long as you keep from wearing pukey coloured (spelled your way!) corduroy, you've got nothing to apologize for - grin.

Hmm, now I'm wondering whether the sorry thing has a geographical basis...

Glad to "see" you here, Linda - and thanks for commenting!