Sunday, November 15, 2009

flying by the (assigned) seat of my pants

I've been spending monumental amounts of time in airports lately.

Because I'm trying to be more like Victoria Beckham.

Okay...not really.

All of my airport shenanigans have been for work, which means I haven't been able to endure the airport with the knowledge that there's a poolside cocktail and bathing suit weather waiting for me at the other end of the plane ride. Rather, I've logged my airport hours alone, wishing I was at home with a warm cup of tea and dreading the inevitable horrificness that occurs every time I get on an airplane.

Without fail.


(Remember this?)

What is it about traveling alone that causes the most ridiculous, had-to-be-there-to-believe-it stories that you can only repeat at a later time in which people severely doubt your sanity and sobriety?

Maybe it's just me.

Allow me to give you some fantastic-o examples this week. I literally have so many I might be able to do one a day, so keep checking back.


A few weeks ago I was on my way to Green Bay, WI for some sales training. I specifically booked my seat on the window so I could have an excuse to wear sunglasses rest my head against the plane. As I entered the aircraft, I could already see that someone was in my seat.

I have x-ray vision like that.

(Or I'm just a perpetual pessimist.)

Upon visual confirmation that a woman was indeed in my assigned seat, the Mean Demons in my brain immediately began to prepare a verbal attack. Somehow I managed to keep my composure.

Perhaps this woman simply didn't comprehend the cartoon signs that are designed to make sure EVERY PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE CAN FIND THEIR APPROPRIATE SEAT.

They can be confusing.


I approached the woman in the window with a completely ingenuine ear-to-ear smile that would make my mother proud.

Me: (approaching seat) Oh! Tee hee! Are you sitting in 12-F? I think might be my seat. Not sure, though! (squinting at Seat Explainer Cartoon as though the information might change before my very eyes.)

Seat Stealer: (not even looking up from her texting) I'm in D. You're in F. It's an aisle seat.

Me: (incredulous at her blatant lie and awful black roots) Um...okay! I guess I read this wrong so...

Seat Stealer: (continues texting)

Guy in Row Behind Us: Actually, Miss, you're right. She's in your seat. D is an aisle seat.

Me: (vowing to give the guy a hug later) Oh, okay! That's what I thought. Hee hee!

Seat Stealer: (glancing up from her phone and peering at me over her glasses.) So did you want this seat, then?

Me: (internal monologue) No, no, not at all. That's why I'm standing here HOLDING UP THE AIRPLANE LINE. I just wanted to make sure you were aware that you were being a complete ass. I'll be happy to sit in the aisle seat and have my elbow broken in 9 places by the effing drink cart.

Me: (siging loudly and plopping into aisle seat) No. It's fine. Whatever. You can sit there.

Guy in Row Behind Us: Wow. That seems kind of silly.

Me: (loudly over my shoulder) Oh, ya know, it's not that big of a deal!

Seat Stealer: (Realizing the kind of crazy vindictive bitch she's dealing with) Well, if you really want the seat...

Me: (smilign oh-so big) Really. It's totally fine!

Seat Stealer: (squirming) Well, um, I'll probably have to go to the bathroom anyway at some point in the flight, so it would make sense for me to sit there.

Me: Well, if you insist.


Let this be a lesson to you all.

I am the Queen of Passive Aggression, and I will NAIL YOUR ASS TO THE WALL with it every time.

In fact, I'm so good that I can make a grown woman tell a plane full of strangers that she has to pee when she really doesn't.

Revenge is mine.

Check back tomorrow for another harrowing airport story...