I had the joy of taking a red-eye flight across the country today, and, me being me, experienced one of the most terrifying and embarrassing moments of my life. In one fell swoop, my paranoia and pride were shot to hell.
Of course, this statement may be taken as hyperbole, but suffice it to say that I thought I was going to be arrested, then melt into a puddle of embarrassment. There was also an incident as I walked through security where the man in line in front of me let rip one of the loudest farts I have ever heard in my life and pretended like nothing happened, but that story is somehow less funny than the one I am about to share with you. I honestly don’t know why I subject myself to this kind of torture, but I suppose I just want other people to laugh, even if it is at my expense.
Once I had settled into my seat (window, of course), I performed my usual in-flight routine—put on my hood, popped a Nyquil, and ignored whoever was sitting next to me (seriously though, I would not be able to pick him[?] out of a lineup)—and was out before the safety video was over. It wasn’t the most peaceful sleep I’ve ever had, but it could have been worse. I could have been awake. Though, in retrospect, being awake might have been helpful.
Upon arrival, I performed another part of my routine—waiting until the absolute last moment to stand up and walk off the plane. I don’t understand why people stand up as soon as the plane stops and then just stand there until it’s their turn to exit. Far too much effort.
As I was walking toward the front of the plane, a flight attendant with a serious face touched my left arm, which a) startled me and b) made me uncomfortable, and asked me whether I was traveling alone. When I responded that, yes, I was alone, she told me to take a seat at the front of the plane until she came to get me.
Naturally, I freaked out. What the hell had I done? Was there some sort of contraband in my bag? Did I miss something super important during the flight because I was asleep (and possibly drooling)? I’m sure my eyes took up the greater part of my face as I made my way to the front, utterly confused and still a little disoriented from what can only be described as my temporary coma.
I sat down and waited, watching all the other passengers leave. The thought that crossed my mind with the most frequency was, “shit, if I get arrested, that probs means I’ll miss my connecting flight.” #priorities
The flight attendant eventually came to get me after what felt like the entire population of a small city deplaned. She asked me for my name and final destination, then whipped out a comically long sheet of paper. All I could think was that that document held the secrets to my future, and judging by how long it was, I was a little bit screwed.
Finally, I did something unprecedented: I looked around. It was just me sitting in the front row, with an elderly couple across the aisle. Then it hit me. My life was about to get super awkward.
The flight attendant assured the elderly couple that their wheelchairs would be there soon. I sat there, wincing, knowing exactly why she had told me to sit down.
She asked me for my seat number, then looked deeply perturbed at my answer. “No, that’s not right. You’re not on my list. What’s your name again?”
And then came the dreaded question: “How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“You’re not an unaccompanied minor!”
No, I’m not an unaccompanied minor. I’m twenty years old. I’m a junior in college.
I know I don’t look my absolute best right now, but I didn’t realize that I look like a child.
I exited the plane with mixed feelings. I was ecstatic that I wasn’t going to be arrested or held for questioning. But, I did leave amidst a sea of laughter from the flight attendants and even the elderly couple.
You guys suck.
The face of a child. A sweet, sweet child. And yes, I did take that picture in the bathroom of the Atlanta airport. I have no shame left.
