Always something
I lucked out with regard to the whole air travel thing this time. All of my flights were on time. My layovers were short, but long enough for me to get where I was going. (Long walks, yes, but that’s par for the course these days, airports have gotten so big.) I hate those little Embraer jets, though. They have the worst-designed seats anywhere.
The security people at Perdóndaris airport were astoundingly rude, even by large-airport standards. I managed to escape any targeted wrath because I’ve been doing this so often lately I know the routine like the back of my hand (off with the shoes and coat, out with the laptop, on with the bags, through the metal detector, hand over the boarding pass…), but I could surely have done without the general shoutiness of the entire ordeal.
That paled to insignificance, however, beside the woman I ended up sitting next to on the plane to Detroit. (Again, “Detroit” tells you nothing about where Perdóndaris is except that it’s somewhere east of Madison. And lots of places are that.) I don’t mind a little plane chat, especially on a plane that’s crowded (as this one was) and therefore uncomfortable. Ice-breaking is a good thing.
But this woman nattered on endlessly. About her last five surgeries. Her husband’s last five surgeries. Their finances. Her elder daughter’s travails with school, boys, and suicide attempts (!!!). Her work. Her younger daughter’s travails with school, and success in overcoming same (said daughter scowling in the window seat, helpless to put a stop to her mother’s oversharing). Her fights with her daughters’ teachers, principals, and school district.
Nothing would make her stop. Looking away was not a sufficient cue. When I turned my book over in my lap and began to read during a brief pause in the ceaseless flood of inappropriate disclosure (and I haven’t given you all of it by any means; just the merest taste), she actually touched my shoulder twice to get me to pay attention again. I breathed a covert sigh of relief when the plane touched down, anticipating blessed release, only to be disappointed because we’d arrived early and our gate wasn’t free and we had to sit out on the tarmac while the woman nattered on and I was ready to claw myself out of my skin to escape by the time the plane finally nudged in to the gate.
I’ve never pushed my way out of a plane so fast.
I wanted to say something to the daughter, though, because I surely did recognize the expression on her face. I also noticed the way the daughter half-shamefacedly, half-lovingly put her mother back together with her stuff to get ready to debark.
It’s okay, I wanted to say. I mean, it’s not okay, it’s living hell. I know. But it’ll be okay. A few more years and you’re free, and despite everything, you’ll be fine. I was you, kid, and I’m basically okay. You will be, too.
I still wish I’d said that. But I couldn’t have got past her mother long enough. Always something, with air travel. Always something.