Why do people travel?
Do they do so because they are unhappy with their current situation and
desire to change their perspective? Are
they seeking out adventure or a certain high that can only be achieved by
stepping outside their comfortable norm?
Or do they simply do so because that is what people do—some sort of
cultural norm that pushes them to go, the hip factor, as it were? I imagine there are people in this world that
fit into every one of these categories; there are a multitude of reasons that
pull people out of their boxes and set them on the open road. I’m not going to embark upon a philosophical
journey, as it were, of the multitude of reasons for people hitting the road
(even though this piece looks very much like one of those works). In truth, I don’t really care, nor should
you. It’s personal, right? But, I’m sorry—there are some people who
really shouldn’t leave their houses and certainly shouldn’t be getting into a
car, heading to the airport, and getting on my plane. But they always do!
I must have
uncanny luck—though I suspect that my fellow trolley dollies encounter the same
sort of individuals on a daily basis as well.
Without fail, each and every flight, someone crazy manages to maneuver him
or herself on the plane, and I’m almost certain they have no clue how they got
there or where they are going. This may
seem a bit harsh, or perhaps a bit extreme, but trust me. Yesterday, for example, we had this passenger
seated in first class who clearly did not belong there, and yet his ticket said
he did. I’m still in shock. He was wearing these weird capris pants, long
white socks with orange stripes, Birkenstocks, and a wife beater. It was like Tupac meets Al Bundy meets Shaggy
(from Scooby Doo). Once we got over the
fact that he was actually standing in front of us and was, indeed, going to be
riding with us, we took his drink order.
Okay, so this is an airplane and we have limited stuff but still, we
have a good variety. He gave us a toothy
grin and said ‘what kinda rubbin’ alcohol you gets’? The gal I was working with just stood there
and gawked; I actually had to come to her aid and steer her back into the
galley. We settled on a vodka cranberry
for our strange fella. Simple,
good. He seemed to enjoy it; of course,
when compared with rubbing alcohol, I’m sure it tasted fabulous. After the
safety demo, I was checking on the passengers and found the guy marveling over
the seat belt—clearly confused at what it was for or how it worked. I tried to show him with a spare seatbelt but
to no avail. Finally, I actually reached
over and put it on him, myself. The
reaction on his face was akin to one I imagined he might give me after affixing
some sort of weird sex paraphernalia about him, which made me physically
shudder.
Later on
during the flight, the guy asked my cohort what she did for a living…uhhh…this. He seemed shocked with her reply and then
smiled and took another snip of his drink.
Just keep drinking, sir. It’ll
all get better. But seriously…where did
this guy come from and why on earth wasn’t he staying there. Everything about him screamed: “I’ve never
been let out on my own before”, and I don’t think he should have been let out
this time. Granted he was rather benign
when compared with some other passengers (and working crew members) out there,
but not once did the thought ‘what the….’ leave my head. It was anyone’s guess—and believe me, we
tried many options—as to why this guy was on our plane and where he was going. I don’t think I’m allowed to share some of
the better stories we envisioned, but you can imagine—I do have a very active
imagination, after all. I only hope that
he had someone meeting him at the airport, because this poor guy didn’t have a
clue.
So, moral
of this story is simple. Any time that
you’re feeling like a hot mess on an airplane (and traveling with take it out
of you), look around you, because there is probably someone else who is even
worse off than you are. And you know
I’ll be looking too!
