One of the benefits of traveling is that, if you’re paying attention, you can start having fun even before they call out your boarding zone. So much excellent entertainment happens at the airport, but most people are looking at their phones and miss it.
I am always on the lookout for these live amusement opportunities, but once we were on the other end of this and made everyone’s day when we almost missed a flight in Germany. We sprinted through the airport, sweatshirts and blankets flying behind us like kites on a windy day.
Forest had just turned one and was strapped to Graeme’s middle, in one of those outward-facing baby carriers that cost a lot of money. Graeme and I huffed and puffed, running at full speed, zooming past gates and shops that all sell the same sandwich. And Forest loved it. The dude loved it so much. It was his favorite part of the whole European trip.
And in the midst of our airport-induced anguish and adrenaline (the worst kind), I realized:
Everyone is laughing at us.
All we could think about was missing that flight, but Forest, having been a fetus recently, wasn’t bothered by this at all, and when people saw us coming they mainly noticed the little boy, bouncing with each step, flapping his wings, and cackling madly.
But that was in Germany.
The story I’m about to tell you unfolded in Dallas, while I was by myself, waiting to board a plane back to California.
I plugged in my laptop and sat next to Jennifer. We had never met before and I’d never see her again, but we were friends for an hour. The girls in front of us spoke German and were wearing the kind of yoga pants with mesh on the sides that convey the following message: no chones. Very bold, this. I don’t think there has ever been a time in my life when I walked out the door hoping people realized I wasn’t wearing underwear. It’s never been a personal goal of mine, but some people are more ambitious, I guess.
To the right of the German ladies sat a group of three amigos, one of them with Down Syndrome and a cowboy hat, who looked directly at my face for at least thirty minutes. I smiled at him and he looked away, embarrassed for a second, and then went right back to looking at me in a way that really benefitted my self-esteem.
I brought a few books with me. Peril by Choice, because I’m into missionary biographies at the moment, Everybody Always, by Bob Goff, because he’s a cool guy and I liked his first book, and The House at Pooh Corner, because I like A.A. Milne and how he capitalizes words in a Very Unusual Manner.
I left my laptop to charge under the seat and read a few pages of Everybody Always. Deciding to follow Bob’s advice to love everyone, I set the book down and started a conversation with the lady to my left. Jennifer is the CEO of a real estate company, spends most of her life traveling, and is really frustrated with her 18-year-old son who spends most of his life playing video games and yelling so loudly into his headset it can be heard all throughout the house.
She was dressed smartly in the kind of well-pressed, navy blue pantsuit you’d expect a business lady to wear, her hair was as black as her rimmed glasses and the mint gum she was chewing wasn’t quite strong enough. She reminded me a little of that funny lady, Celeste Barber, if she had taken a more serious path in life.
Figuring I’m just a random lady she’ll never see again, she told me all about her life, children, problems, divorce, and I realized afterwards she never once asked me anything. I told her about Dr. Henry Cloud’s book, Boundaries, and how she might learn a thing or two in there on how to handle an 18-year-old video gaming sloth. She downloaded it on the spot.
Our conversation was interrupted by a commotion happening between a lady who threw herself on the floor in a rage and five Very Polite Policemen who know everyone has an iPhone these days. “I wish you would all die!” Screamed the lady in her pajama pants. “Ma’am,” responded one of the cops, gently, “you have to get up and come with us or we’re going to have to pick you up.” Then there was more screaming and the lady flung something that shattered all over the floor. Jennifer, having lived longer than I, thought the thing looked like a crack pipe.
The disgruntled lady was banned from Spirit Airlines for life and was escorted away against her will, cussing and delivering threats all the way, while the cops around her looked down sheepishly, like a mom leaving story time at the library in a hurry because the kids had a hissy fit and said the F word.
Right after this, a group of paramedics rushed into the tarmac directly to our right, causing a lot of excitement among the people who weren’t wearing earbuds. A few moments later, they brought out a very pale lady in a stretcher, looking like she had donated too much blood and was about to faint.
Well, well…says I, this has been an eventful afternoon at the DFW Airport. And just as that thought was making its way through my mind, a tall black guy in a green shirt and cool sunglasses ran over to the door of the tarmac that was being closed that very instant by a calloused employee. The plane to Vegas was leaving without him. The airport employee shrugged his shoulders at him from the other side of the glass door and walked away as the unfortunate traveler banged on it and pleaded to no avail.
What’s the wildest thing that has happened during one of your trips? I asked my traveler friend. She thought for a moment, then the corners of her mouth slowly curved up into a mischievous smile.
It went like this.
She was halfway through a flight from Denver to Chicago, when she noticed some commotion happening in the back of the plane. There was some banging around for a few moments, then things settled down again. It was probably nothing. A few minutes passed, then came more disconcerting noises, louder this time. A few other passengers noticed and began turning in their seats to have a look.
A flight attendant knocked on the bathroom door. “Hello?” She called out. “Hello? Are you okay in there?” No answer. A second flight attendant came over and they whispered to each other. By now the back half of the plane was very much aware that something of interest was unfolding in the rear. After a few more suspenseful minutes of knocking, enquiring, and finally consulting the pilot, a response came.
A man replied from the depths in a gruff, embarrassed voice.
“The door’s stuck.”
This set off a flurry of activity as the flight attendants knew what had to be done. They just weren’t sure how to do it. They tried directing the guy, describing in detail how to open a door. Then, with desperation beginning to mount, they tried yanking the door open from the outside. Still nothing. This went on for a while, to the amusement of the passengers.
They weren’t so amused thirty minutes later, however, when the pilot announced he would have to conduct an emergency landing in order to free Willy. Gosh darn it, thought the Christian passengers. Aw, shite, thought the Irish ones.
Well, there was nothing for it. The passengers, no longer entertained, sunk dejectedly into their seats in preparation for a long delay. The plane landed, and a couple of clever-looking fellows with tools came on board to engage in a bit of rescuing. Everybody cheered as they made their way to the back, then listened expectantly as one of them knocked on the bathroom door again. “Sir?” He said in the comforting voice of a man who knows how to handle a screwdriver. From beyond the jammed door came the reply. This time a different sound.
No longer gruff but softer…more feminine.
“We’re in here.”
A collective, audible gasp was heard from rows 16 to 24, and the ones who missed it were soon informed via the best game of telephone ever played on an airplane.
All previous feelings of annoyance at having been inconvenienced were instantly replaced with morbid fascination, as the passengers realized this really was some quality in-flight entertainment.
The manly tool men who had walked in so confidently and professionally were now giggling as they tried to unscrew the door.
And as the last screw came undone, all heads turned in silent anticipation for the reward they had been waiting for.
Out came a burly, disheveled character with the look of a man who has made good choices but not recently, and behind him, a lady as red as a drunken sailor inspected the floor directly in front of her toes as she walked briskly to the front of the plane.
I learned three lessons that day:
1) There’s nothing quite like a morning at the airport for some good, wholesome entertainment
2) It always pays to strike up a conversation with a stranger, and
3) The obvious one
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