So today I had to fly out for business. It was a sunny bright day in Houston, and of course, hot as well, Houston.
I'm leaving for two weeks to go to Lexington Kentucky and theres a bittersweet vibe around it. After living there for almost 14 years and loving it, but having to leave my beloved farm and life behind when first my job went away. And then my marriage.
So here I was. Once again employed by my former employer (thanks for that by the way) and going back to the scene of the crime where my life imploded.
The airport stage was perfect. Heck...security didn't even hassle me (TSA usually does...a drug sniffing dog actually peed on me once) and I even found a comfy chair and a plug to charge and wait out my boarding time.
That's when things went wonky.
First...they overbooked and carry-on was a luxury only first-class got to have. The rest of us "valued" customers had to gate check our bags. Uh. No. It's got my WIP, my flash drive of books and for lack of a better way of saying it, my underwear (don't judge, other bag was full). But I've done the travel thing and if my luggage was lost, it was NOT going to include my in editing copy of LUST, my WIP on my flash and well, commando just makes me feel weird.
So, I explained I needed that bag for medical reasons (aka I would kill innocent people if I lost its contents) and got to keep my bag.
So, got to my seat and settled in. It was easy from here, right? Hah.
Second was Puke Barbie. Yes, yes...that seems derogatory, but she was blonde, she was tan and tall and she had a tshirt that actually said...Barbie. (See, you judged too soon, didn't you). But apparently Barbie had too much bar drinks and needed to let it go. Literally. Cue Barbie running down the aisle to the bathroom at takeoff saying she needed to puke.
She didn't make it to the bathroom because its happy seatbelt time. Stewardesses tried to point this out. Puke Barbie don't care. Puke Barbie gonna hurl.
On my shoes. And that bag I had shoved under my seat. Yep. That happened. So, plane is halted, cleaned and Puke Barbie escorted away. I'm guessing to call rehab Ken.
So...what else could happen? Right?
Third...Oh...I don't know. Anyone order a side of screaming child of 3 of parents that don't speak English? Sitting right across from them? I think they were Arabic, but no one on the plane spoke it or if not, not that either. They tried explaining screaming 3-year old had to be in a seat and buckled. The parents just smiled, nodded and held child in lap. This went on like this until poor kid was having a melt-down that nice flight lady was touching him. Or really hated seatbelts. Or Barbie had scared the beegesus out of him. I know my shoes had that fear fulfilled.
So, apparently, if you're asked to do something three times on a flight, its FAA rules you are non-compliant..at 3 years old...and not knowing English. Smiling and nodding does not compliance make.
So plane gets sent back to the gate again. Elaborate hand gestures, loud talking (because talking English LOUD makes it more universal, right?) did not alleviate the situation and the captain pulled the "off of my plane" power. Family had no idea what's going on. Child is getting more upset and the family is trying to explain...in non-not-english words.
Now the whole time this sad drama is going on people are getting pissed. Chants of kick them off and boot them (all in very colorful English) are being heckled about in the puke scented, child freaking space and me?
Well, see...plane aisles are narrow and since a lovely yet round stewardess is trying to control the situation (and doing so LOUDLY)... Her equally round and not so lovely rear is all but in my face. Literally...like RIGHT there. She's one of those physically animated talkers and that butt was bobbing and weaving with each LOUD vowel. And a few adjectives. And I was really wishing I was off the plane with Puke Barbie at that moment.
So, the family was ejected off the plane, people cheered and we were off again.
Now I'm in flight and we have a ton of turbulence (Barbie would have never survived, poor thing) and I'm thinking about that whole bad things come in threes, right?
Which, of course, led to going down in flames. In hitting a mountain. Or birds. Or alien space ships. Anything really that would change the current 20,000 feet in the air status. Quickly. As in aaaaa...splat.
My author brain went to this:
Oh crap. Whose going to finish my books? There's so many to write!
Hmm...did I leave the cat enough food?
Shoot...I'll never finish my edits.
Oh look, soda. In tiny cans.
If I die right now, what is the last thing I have to leave behind before I go?
Hmmm...Puke Barbie and Loud English. What I legacy I'm leaving behind. :)
Oh, if you're wondering, I survived and am in Charlotte. Guess who else is here too...anyone got a barf bag for my next flight?
Take care, JTW