I was sitting between two pre-teens, one eight, one maybe 10, on Sunday evening, Aug. 3, the day I realized that airline travel in the U.S. was over.
Their grandmother, on the window, explained to me apologetically:
* She booked this trip in May.
* The stupid airline split the kids up for some reason, putting Ten in the center seat next to her, Eight across the row.
* Grandma had called and asked the airline to switch the seats, but the airline refused (even though she herself is a flight attendant [for another airline] {which proudly she showed off by inappropriately using lots of highfalutin references to "the aircraft" and "air pockets" and the flight attendants’ "final walk through"}).
* And no, unfortunately, Eight didn’t want to switch with me so the girls could sit together, because Eight wanted to hold the baby of the woman in the center seat, next to her.
I am "Sir" when Gramdma is apologizing to me directly for having to pass back and forth food, pillows, tea packets, drinks, a stuffed monkey, a Hollywood gossip magazine. I am "the Gentleman"–and sometimes "the poor Gentleman"–when grandma is noisily scolding one or both of the girls for bumping me, poking me, jostling me or pressing me into service gratuitously as a messenger.
I read The New York Times Sunday magazine with a comical fierceness, and maintain a stoic politeness. As if being placed at the center of this new family is no big deal, even for a man who is going to be quizzed upon landing on the contents of a magazine. I smile occasionally but I do not say that I have a daughter myself.
Early in the flight, Grandma has apparently tallied up my behaviors, run them against her flight attendant’s Remembered Customer Database and held the whole information collection up against my short haircut. She asks me, "Sir, are you in the military? Well, you just seem like military personnel."
The girls are … well, when the flight attendant informs me that I cannot get even a glass of water without paying, Ten whispers in my ear, "Things are getting so expensive these days!" I pretend not to hear. She taps me on the arm and repeats: "You know, things are getting so expensive these days!"
"Yes," I agree. "They are."
At the flight’s halfway point, the girls switch seats, Ten pushing past to see the baby, Eight hopping over my lap to sit beside Grandma.
"He’s so patient," Grandma says by way of apologizing for the hassle.
The girls are patient, too–with their Grandma’s constant nudging not to bite their nails, asking whether they’re finished with their soda and ready to put it away, wondering if they’d like a vanilla wafer.
Eight is complaining about her new seating assignment, and craning her neck over my book–I’ve proofread the magazine by now–to jealously count the joys that Ten is having with the baby. Probably to interrupt Ten’s conversation with the baby’s mother, Eight asks once again for the gossip magazine, which has now crossed over the aisle at least four times.
"Come on, girls, sit still!" Grandma says. She bellows it, because she’s got her headphones on to watch the in-flight movie, Tales of Narnia. "This guy’s going to throw you out the window!"
"Come on, girls, behave! This gentleman’s doing his best not to knock your head off!"
"Don’t hit him or I will spank you!"
"Sit still! The Gentleman’s right next to you. You guys have been up and down, up and down. I’m getting a little aggravated."
And then on the ground, more recrimination. "You were making this poor man jump up and down like a yo-yo!"
I’m on my way down the aisle, fairly pushing people out of the way to escape back into the world outside Modern Airline Travel, where I still, occasionally, manage to be something other than a "poor Gentelman," but the Eight and Ten don’t get away so easy. The last thing I hear as I sprint up the jetway is, "Hurry up, girls, these people want to deplane!"
Eek! I’m heading out tomorrow a.m. from Oregon to Ohio with my two. I’m no longer looking forward to any of the flight. Thanks, David.
You know what was truly horrifying in this whole tale? That you can’t get a drink of WATER on an airplane without paying for it. Now that is just wrong.
As to you and your girl-and-grandma adventures, all I can say is: your turn will come. Just wait until Scout gets about three years older. My daughter and I traveled a lot, given that we lived in Southeast Alaska when she was a child and, unless you hopped a ferry, airline travel was the only way out. I learned early on to prep a travel backpack for her, filled with new and interesting surprises ranging from markers and paper to new books to anything else I could find that might make a long flight seem shorter in the world of a young girl.
And the human failing in your journey was Grandma, who should have insisted that, baby or not, after your generous offer to trade, the girls were going to sit with her and not split up with you in the middle. Grandma lacked travel courtesy and you suffered for it.
No water. I can’t believe that’s even legal, to pen up a couple hundred people in an airborne tube for hours on end and not offer the courtesy of hydration.
Tut-tuttingly yours,
Joan
You were too nice to say it outright, so I’ll do it for you:
-Those kids were ill-mannered, completely out of control brats!
-Grandma was either ill-equipped to be put in charge of said brats, or simply didn’t care but knew the other people on the plane would think she was useless (which she was) unless she at least pretended to try to control those children.
Joan is completely correct, granny should have made the decision and moved the other kid to her side instead of letting the brats decide to make your life a living hell for however many hours.
Lemme tell you – you were A LOT nicer than I woulda been!
David:
I have to ask: were you drinking during this flight? Were you drinking a lot? Because yo seem to have some very important facts wrong.
There is no such movie as “Tales of Narnia.” But that is a small thing, compared to the whole “charging for water” thing.
I think you’ll admit that I fly more than you. i may fly more than anyone except Shel Holtz. Never, ever, have I been charged for water. Never. Water is free. It’s the last free thing on airplanes.
Is there a chance maybe you were tipsy??????
Steve C.
Steve, it was CHRONICLES of Narnia …
and it was U.S. Airways.
They have a new policy; see here.
http://news14.com/content/top_stories/597927/no-more-free-drinks-from-us-airways/Default.aspx
Knowing they’re charging for bottled water, I asked for water in a glass and the flight attendant said, “We don’t do water in a glass anymore.”
So I drank a $2 Sprite and got out my notebook.
Steve, I think it’s time for you to mix a very large pitcher of martinis, soak in the warm evening, let your mind wander, and then write us a blog yourself. I’ve been missing those hallucinations of yours. Tell me what the Cubs have done (or not done, or done ill), or more on the latest in Chicago toileting trends, or why Cindy has most recently considered you to be completely insane (although consistently oddly adorable in a Sphynx cat sort of way)–anything at all. David’s whining wasn’t whiny enough. I need a strong dose of outrage, the kind only you can provide.
Excuse me, David. Never mind your in-flight traumas … you’re in Phoenix? Ahem!
Ah, every minute was packed with client meetings, not five minutes to rub together.
I’m hoping to build in some leisure—golf, family poolside time on the next trip, maybe in Dec. I will not fail to look you up; know that.
I’m holding you to that!
Southwest has flights out of Midway and into Pheonix. I bet you could get TWO – count ’em – TWO glasses of water PLUS some free peanuts.
I’m just sayin’.
If my job required me to take US domestic airlines more than, say, twice a year, I’d lose my mind.
I firmly believe the first airline that raises fares 20% and improves service 10% will have more business than it can handle.
Dude, the window seat’s the best one anyway. Why didn’t you take that one and let Granny and the girl move toward the aisle?
Nice to have found your blog again.
Greg
Missed you, Greg! Glad to have you back!