Kindred Spirits

KINDRED SPIRITS

“Next!”

I glared at the guy standing beside me. He shouldn’t have been beside me, he should have been behind me. I knew it, he knew it. I squinted my eyes, took my two fingers, pointed them at my eyes, then at him—I’m watching you—and walked forward to the check-in counter.

Flying was enough of a pain in the butt without having line jumpers to contend with. Jerk.

Check-in went smoothly. I only had carry-on luggage, and it wasn’t too big, wasn’t too heavy, wasn’t a roller bag that could be commandeered into checked luggage. And I had my premium economy seat—with extra legroom, an empty middle seat—confirmed. Short of the obscene markup for business or first class that I definitely could not afford, I was in the best seat in steerage.

Boarding was in about forty minutes. I had my book, my music, and free wi-fi which would let me finish a couple of emails before boarding.

I was heading to Australia. I’d never been to Australia—it was the last continent left on my bucket list. I was excited. Three weeks on a tour of the eastern part of the country with G Adventures, a tour company I trusted and liked. Life was good.

Boarding group one was called. That was me!—my carry-on would be stowed right above my head, not somewhere far, far away. I boarded, found my seat 1A, extra front leg room and I didn’t have to deal with people reclining their seats. Nirvana.

Boarding was smooth as silk. I settled in and looked out the window, watching all the synchronized chaos that was an active airport tarmac.

“Excuse me. I think you’re in my seat.”

I looked up. It was him—The Jerk from check-in. “No. This is my seat. Row 1, seat ‘A’, window seat all the way.”

“No, you are mistaken,” he said. “Seat ‘C’ is the window seat, ‘A’ is the aisle seat.”

“No,” I said, perhaps with a little more snark than needed. ‘You are mistaken.” I undid my seatbelt and scooted over and stood up in the aisle. “See these little pictures with the row and seat designations?” He just looked at me, not bothering to look where I was pointing. I said, “This rounded icon beside ‘A’ is the window seat—it represents the outside of the plane. Then by ‘C’, there’s a person walking by? That’s the aisle seat. It represents people walking down the aisle” I looked at him. “If what you said is correct, then there would be people walking outside the plane by the window. That doesn’t happen.” And just to make sure that he understood, I pointed to the icons again. “Window seat—‘A’, aisle seat—‘C’” I reiterated. “Plus, the letters are alphabetical across the plane.”

He scowled, unwilling to admit he was wrong. “But I booked a window seat,” was his reply.

“Not my problem,” I said as I slid back over into my luxurious window seat, and buckled back in. He stood there, looking at me, annoyance written across his features.

The flight attendant appeared at his side. “Is everything okay here?” she asked.

The guy pointed towards me. “She won’t give me my seat.” The flight attendant looked at me, then back at The Jerk. “Can I see your boarding pass, sir?”

He handed it to her, she looked at the pass, then back at The Jerk and said, “Your seat is ‘C’, which is the aisle seat.”

“But I booked a window seat,” he repeated to the flight attendant.

“Well, according to your boarding pass, you booked an aisle seat.”

“Well, someone must have changed it.” He glared at me. What? I was some kind of seat-swapping wizard? Such. A. Jerk.

The flight attendant said nothing, just waited for him to take his seat. People were waiting to get to their seats. There were impatient whispers.

“I want a window seat,” he whined. I rolled my eyes.

The flight attendant’s smile started to look a little forced. “This flight is full, sir. There are no more window seats.”

“I’m going to complain. This is blatantly unfair,” he said, throwing his carry-on into the bin, and flopping down into his seat with his personal item on his lap.

“You’re going to have to stow that in the overhead bin until after take off,” she said, pointing at his messenger bag.

Now he was getting belligerent. “Why?” he demanded.

I looked at the flight attendant. Not even the hint of a smile this time. “Personal items must be stowed under the seat in front of you for safety. But there is no seat in front of you, so you have to stow it in the overhead bin.” She stared at him. “You don’t want to get hit in the face if your personal item becomes airborne, do you?” she asked, a tight smile on her face which, to me, looked liked she’d like nothing better than seeing his bag hit him in the face. I shut my eyes and visualized it.

“Whatever.” He put his personal bag in the overhead bin, and flopped back into his seat.

She continued to look at him, speaking like he was a recalcitrant toddler. “Please make sure you buckle up before take-off.”

Before he could make eye-contact with me, I turned back to my inspection of the baggage handlers lovingly loading our luggage onto the plane. JK. They were heaving those bags like they were trying out for a spot on the Olympic shot putt team.

After everyone had boarded and the doors closed, I heard the familiar whir of the engines starting up—we were pulling away from the jet port. The flight attendants started their safety spiel. The Jerk sat and huffed through the entire presentation, as if safety offended him, personally. I hoped that he wasn’t going to keep that up for the entire fifteen hours and thirty minutes the flight was going to take to get to Sydney. As the plane sped up for takeoff, his huffing stopped. Instead he started his mantra of “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod” over and over again. And not quietly, either.

My heart sank. He was a nervous flyer. I could tell him the stats about how flying was safer than driving, but I didn’t want to talk to him. At all. Instead, I put my earbuds in, turned on my music, and waited for take off. I love take off—it’s that incredible point I’m no longer tethered to the earth, when I’m soaring high into the sky. I watched the lights of Vancouver grow dimmer and dimmer, as we lifted into the heavens.

Once we reached cruising speed, the “OhmyGod”ing stopped. Maybe he was only freaked out during take-off and landing. I could live with that. I just hoped he would sleep.

The attendant came by with drinks and light snacks. Of course, The Jerk wanted what wasn’t offered. “I want peanuts,” he declared.

This time the flight attendant actually sighed. “Sir, this flight is nut-free. People with severe allergies can go into anaphylactic shock if they come in contact with nuts of any kind. They could die.”

The Jerk crossed his arms. “That’s a them problem. I want nuts.”

I could tell the flight attendant was trying really hard not to roll her eyes. “We. Have. No. Nuts.”

“Well, what am I supposed to eat?”

“I don’t know. How about the list I recited to you a minutes ago—cheese and crackers, cheese and fruit plate, egg sandwich, ham and cheese sandwich, muffin, cookies, Pringles, or nothing.”

“You’re serving ham? What if I don’t eat pork products?” he challenged.

“Then don’t order the ham and cheese sandwich,” she replied after taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got bread products? What if I’m celiac?”

“That only becomes an issue if you eat the gluten.”

“Humph. I want nuts.”

I couldn’t take it any more. “Buddy, you’re behaving like a baby. Take what’s offered, or take nothing. Those are your choices. It’s not like she can step out to the 7-11—we’re at 30,000 feet.”

The flight attendant smiled at me—a full-face, teeth showing smile. She knew..

His head swivelled so quickly towards me, I’m surprised he didn’t get whiplash. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? This is none of your concern. Mind your own business.”

“This became my concern once you started braying ‘I want nuts.’ There’s an entire plane-load of people waiting for their snacks while you complain. No nuts. Make another choice, or go without. You decide. But decide right now.” I skewered him with my best intimidating face. Then I broke eye contact and looked to the flight attendant. “I’ll have the cheese and crackers, please.”

She handed it to me. “Anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a red wine, please.” The tiny little plastic wine bottle and plastic glass were passed to me.

“Sir?” she said.

“Nothing.”

She moved on. The Jerk turned to look at me. “You had no right to talk to me like that.”

I stared at him again. “Someone had to. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.” He said nothing. I put my ear buds back in and continued to listen to my music.

But he wasn’t done. He started listening to music—Finnish metal music by the sounds of it, cranked to eleven. No headphones. I have to mention that, yes, I could hear it through my earbuds, with noise cancelling. If I could hear it, everybody could hear it. I saw the call buttons all flash on around me. I pushed mine as well.

The flight attendant appeared at our row. I took out my buds. The music was really loud.

“Sir,” she yelled. He ignored her.

“SIR!” she yelled louder.

He finally looked over at her. “TURN YOUR MUSIC OFF, PLEASE.”

“WHAT?”

“TURN. YOUR. MUSIC. OFF.”

He turned it down. Now it was only uncomfortably loud, not ear-bleeding loud.

The flight attendant took a deep breath. “You are permitted to listen to any type of media without headphones.”

“I don’t have headphones.”

“Then you can’t listen to your music.”

“I want to listen to my music.”

“Then you can buy a pair of headphones. Seven dollars.”

“Those are crap.”

She took such a deep breath that I was afraid that she was going to pop the buttons on her blouse. “You cannot listen to any device without the use of headphones. It disturbs the other passengers.” She waved her hand at all the visible call button lights.

“I don’t care. I want to listen to my music.”

“If you insist on continuing to play your music, I will be forced to confiscate your device.” She pointed to his phone.

“You can’t do that!” he said. “It’s mine.”

“And, you are breaking the rules, so yes I can confiscate your device.”

They stared at each other. “Try it,” he said.

She held out her hand. He didn’t give her his phone. “Do I need to ask the Captain to come back and have a conversation with you?”

“Fine. I want a pair of headphones.”

“Seven dollars.”

He reached into his pants pocket and brought out a wallet. He reached into the bill section. “Credit card or digital wallet, only.”

“What if I don’t have a credit card or digital wallet?”

She crossed her arms. “Then you don’t get any headphones, and you can’t listen to your music.”

“Fine.” He pulled out his card and reluctantly paid. She handed him a sealed package and walked away. He opened the package, plugged in the jack, and blasted his music through the ear pieces—just to make sure that everyone knew he could. He laid them on his tray table. Horrible, tinny music flooded the air.

I took out my own earbuds and turned to him. Call lights from the surrounding seats lit up, again. “Do you mind turning that down and putting the earpieces into—oh, I don’t know—your ears, where they belong? It’s like one in the morning, and people are trying to sleep!”

“Yeah, I do mind.”

I put my hand on his phone. “Turn that shit down, or I’m going to stomp your phone to oblivion.” He stared at me. I stared back. “Go ahead, try me. See if I’m serious.” I lifted the phone up and slowly handed it to him. He turned the volume down, and put his headphones in his ears. I saw the flight attendant standing off to the side. She smiled, and gave me a thumbs up.

I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up my playlist was finished, and my seat mate was nowhere to be seen. I figured this was as good a time as any to use the facilities.

Wrong move. When I got back, The Jerk was in my seat, and my stuff was tossed on the middle seat.

“Hey! That’s my seat.” I said. “Move.”

“You left. I took it. Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

I could not believe this guy! The balls on him! “That’s not how these things work, buddy. It’s my seat. I paid for it. I went to the washroom, and when I come back, it’s still my seat.” I glared.

“You stole my seat, so I stole your seat.”

“I did not steal your seat. You booked the wrong seat, not me.” I glared harder. “Move. Give me my seat back.”

He smirked at me. “Make me.”

I wanted nothing more than to “make him.” Instead, I turned on my heel, and marched to the the flight crew area where they prepare the meals and drinks. I stuck my head into the area, and spotted the flight attendant who had been serving us, and more importantly, sparring with The Jerk. “Excuse me,” I said. She smiled warmly. “I went to the washroom, and while I was gone, the guy in 1C took my seat, moved all my stuff out. When I told him I wanted my seat back, he refused.” I shrugged.

I swear I heard her growl. Then she took a deep breath, and said, “Come with me.”

We arrived at row one. The Jerk pretended to be asleep.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the attendant. Ignored. “Sir!” she said more sharply. Nothing. Then she leaned over and shook his shoulder. His eyes flew open, anger coming off him in waves.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME!” he screamed. Literally screamed. Then he smacked her hand away.

Wrong move. She turned on her heel, and marched away. Thinking that he’d won, he sneered at me. “Not so tough, now you don’t have backup.”

I backed up. Not because I was frightened, but because two really large men were moving quickly towards us. One was the Captain (the epaulets gave it away), the other, I assumed was an Air Marshall. They said nothing, just leaned into the row, and physically dragged The Jerk out of the seat. He did not go quietly. There was trashing, and swearing, and kicking, and biting. The two men dragged him away, each with a hand under a shoulder. They disappeared into the rear of the plane.

I settled back into my seat. I got out some hand wipes and wiped down every surface. I didn’t want to catch any Jerk cooties.

The flight attendant appeared. “Grab your stuff, we’re moving you to first class.” She smiled widely at me. Wow! First class!

I settled into my much, much, much nicer seat. A reclining seat replete with a swag bag and all kinds of amenities. She reappeared with bottle of red wine—not tiny, not plastic. A real bottle of wine. “I thought you might want this,” she said, handing me a long-stemmed wine glass, and pouring. “When you want more, just let me know.” She smiled.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling. I took a sip. “Fantastic!” I said. Then I asked, “What’s going on with the guy?”

“Well,” she said, leaning in. “We have him restrained at the back of the plane.”

“Duct tape? Across his mouth?” I asked, hoping it was true.

She shook her head. “No, but the Air Marshall handcuffed him to a jump seat in the back. We had to upgrade a couple of passengers to your row because we needed their seats. They seemed happy.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” I asked. Not that I cared about The Jerk, but because I wanted to know that his bad behaviour had consequences.

“Well,” she said. “Police will be waiting for him when we land. He will be charged with assault.” She looked at me. “You’ll probably have to give a statement.” I nodded. “Plus, there’s that life-time ban for abusing a crew member.” She looked at me. “I wish I could fell sorry for him, but I can’t. He was horrible,” she said. “He’s probably never had anyone tell him no in his entire life.”

“I guess his plans are down the tube now, too.”

She nodded. “Yeah. He was supposed to go on a fourteen-day tour with a company called G Adventures.” She sighed, smiling slightly. “Not anymore.”

I started laughing. “G Adventures? I’m on that tour.” I looked at her, my eyes wide. “Dodged a bullet on that one.” We both laughed.

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Bridgette.”

“Shea,” I said shaking her hand. “We’re kindred spirits.”

We laughed again.