If you know me at all, you know that I absolutely hate to fly. I hate it with everything in me. From the moment that I book a flight, I begin to envision my last days here on earth. As I pack, I pack carefully knowing that this may be the very last time I zip up my suitcase. I make note of everything in my bag and pack things that mean the most to me-- my favorite cardigan, a book I never finished reading, pictures of my dogs. Every breath I take from the moment I check-in until the moment that I step back onto land is priceless. I start noticing how green the grass is, how blue the sky is, how wonderful the air smells after it's rained. I also start googling the number of plan crashes in the last two years. Surprisingly the number is higher than you might think.
And then before I know it, it's the day of my flight. We drive to the airport, like driving to your own funeral. Something always goes terribly wrong when I arrive at an airport. One time I parked in short term parking -- for 3 days and ended up paying well over $75. One time I almost missed my flight because I sat at the wrong gate for 45 minutes, cursing the airlines for not being on time. And this past week, as we flew home for thanksgiving, our trip to the airport was no different. Yes we found the right parking lot and no, we didn't sit at the wrong gate for 45 minutes. In fact, i thought all was going well but I was wrong. Dead wrong. First off, there was a bottom-heavy grandmother who was wearing sheer leggings and I couldn't take my eyes away. Like a watching a krispy kreme truck collide with a nursing home van, you just can't stop looking. Secondly, I stood behind a woman who put her dog through the x-ray machine much to the TSA's dismay. And third, I forgot to wear socks. Can you get STD's from standing barefoot in line at Love Field? I'll let you know in a week.
Once we made it to our gate, I sat down and waited for my time to come. I pulled out a book from my bag and all of a sudden I was showered with panty liners. That's right, panty liners. A whole box had unknowingly exploded in my bag and was now scattered about on the floor. Women covered their children's eyes, grown men began to cry. I had no other choice but to pretend like it didn't happen and change seats. Later on I swear I saw a couple of those liners stuck to the bottom of a few unfortunate soles. I saw a desperate single man write his number on one and give it to the stewardist. I saw a child blow his nose on one. This was not going to be a good flight.
The plane ride was bumpy to say the least. Of course we had to fly directly in the path of a developing tornado. I look out the window at the wing, just waiting for it to drop off. I listen carefully to the stew's explain how to inflate the safety vest in case we fall into some unexpected waters. Bryan said I had nothing to worry about -- there are no great bodies of water from Dallas to San Antonio. "That's what you think" I say in response. I asked the stew if it was okay if I put my safety vest on and inflated it just in case. They gave me a pillow and a blanket instead. At least I'll die comfortably, I think to myself.
I always say that plane rides are spiritual for me, mostly because I spend the duration of the flight in full-on prayer. I confess every lie I've ever told, every sin I've committed -- it's prayer-bargaining really so that our plane doesn't tumble out of the sky and explode into a ball of fire. As I'm deep into my prayer, I began to hear a still, small voice. A child's voice coming from the back row. "Houston! We have a problem!! Houston! We have a problem!" Over and over again. I close my eyes tighter, praying that this child will be thrown off the plane. I started singing "Jesus, Take the Wheel" in my head to drown out that little brat but he keeps getting louder and louder. At this point, I'm desperate to find one of those panty liners to tape over his loud little mouth. Just as I am about to turn around and kick this kid's Apollo 13, I hear the pilot announce "This will be our final descent..." Lord, I'm coming home, I pray. It's the final descent. "..into San Antonio. Thank you for flying Southwest and we hope you have a happy holiday season." I immediately open my eyes -- we've made it. I didn't die. I still have my iPhone and I never finished reading that book. The woman's x-rayed dog is sitll alive and that grandma put on some real pants. It was a miracle. I started pinching Bryan to make sure he was real. He was and then he pinched me back and told me to knock it off.
