Not Flyin' Solo

Monday, July 29, 2013

I flew with Poppy O. for the second time this past Saturday.  It was a short flight from Dallas to Oklahoma City, about 30 minutes in the air.  I was lucky in that not many people want to go to Oklahoma City on Saturday.  It was a short and sparsely patronized little flight.  Knowing how short this flight was going to be, I did shirk a bit on the preparation side.  I figured that I’d just pop a bottle of milk in the kid’s mouth while she sat on my lap being really nice and cuddly.  Then I got to thinking about it – I thought about it all through the night on Friday.  And I didn’t sleep very well.  

We get to our gate in Terminal D.  Then we browse its fine retail establishments until our flight’s 5 boarding groups have all been called.  After all, that extra time onboard could translate into extra cranky restlessness, a thing to be avoided at all costs (at all costs!).  We saunter up to the nice asian gate ticket-taker lady.  I hand her my boarding pass.  She gives my baby and I a once-over and says

asian ticket-taker lady:  ‘Wait, let me check something real quick.’

click click click

asian ticket-taker lady:  ‘Yep, the seat next to yours is blocked.  This flight is practically empty today.  Niner six niner*.’  

The Pop-Tart and I get on the airplane and we can’t help but notice that first class is empty – very empty.  I glance at the first two seats, then I glance at the good looking non-gay steward**.  It’s a flirty little look that conveys the following inquiry: ‘it’s cool if my potentially loud baby and I sit in first class, right?’.

me:  ‘It’s cool, right?’

good looking non-gay steward:  ‘Do you have a first class ticket?’

me: ‘No.  But there’s no one here, and I promise it’ll be better for everyone.’

good looking non-gay steward:  ‘Well, I would, but it’s not up to me.  You can ask the gate agent to change your ticket.....’

me, repositioning Poppy on my hip:  ‘Great.  I’ll do that.  She liked me anyway.’

With an air of unwavering optimism, we turn around and hustle back up the jetway. 

me:  ‘Hello again.  Is there any way that you could change our ticket to first?  There are exactly zero people in first...’

asian ticket-taker lady (looking at me like I’d just asked her to hand over her makeup bag):  ‘I can’t make that switch.  The crew down there on the plane can do it.  It’s them you need to talk to.’

Poppy and I descend the jetway once more.  I install us into the first two seats: seat 3A and seat 3B.  I see the good looking non-gay steward walking over to greet us.

good looking non-gay steward:  ‘So, did she change your ticket?’

me:  ‘Yep.’

good looking non-gay steward, looking unconvinced:  ‘She switched yours and not that lady’s over there?‘ 

good looking non-gay steward points to a portly woman waddling toward the back of the plane

me:  ‘I guess because of the baby.‘    

The flight departs at 9:10am and Poppy squirms around the whole time.  She doesn’t cry, not exactly.  But she does make many many loud noises, squirm out of her seatbelt, squirm out of my seatbelt, and knock over my diet coke (why do they still not have Coke Zero on American Airlines flights?  does anyone still prefer diet coke to Coke Zero?  Well, they wouldn’t if they tried Coke Zero, I can tell you that much...).    

*I added this last part.  

**What’s up with all the animosity toward this title?  Why must it be ‘flight attendant’?  ‘Stewardess’ sounds sexy and cool to me.  Oh, well I guess that’s it then.  Since there are far fewer sexy stewardi flying around than there were at the dawn of the profession, the pudgy and bitter majority didn’t want to do the sexy title any injustice.  Got it-

No comments:

Post a Comment