Airplanes: The Ever Joyous Experience.

Riding on an airplane usually allows the mind to picture a feeling of luxury, of class, or cruising in the sky, blending in with the downy fluffs of clouds. However, simply put, riding on an airplane tends to suck. Your flying experience all depends on one simple thing: the people you’re sitting by on the flight. Of course, if you’re one of those lucky people who managed to be part of a group that perfectly fills up one row of seats, then you’re whole flight may be pleasurable and complaint free. On the other hand, if you’re stuck next to an unfamiliar stranger for 13 hours, and that stranger just happens to have extremely bad body odor, well, I’d say you’re in for a preeetty bad flight. On my flight back from China this summer to the Chicago O‘hare airport, I had the joy of sitting in front of a man that seemed slightly airsick, and most likely had been traveling for a very long time and not washed. Everytime this man stood up, everyone within two seats of him was treated to the extremely odious whiff of his scent. Luckily, as he was sick, him standing up didn’t happen very often. Actually, I even distinctly remember a lady next to me actually telling him that he would “feel better” after getting some hamburgers into his system.

Another not so luxurious experience I have the pleasure of recalling took place on yet another international flight. My family was seated in the middle aisle on a Boeing 747, and my sister, being the always thoughtful soul that she was, decided that there was no WAY that she could act like an older sister and let me sit between her and my mom. Instead, she fell upon her usual torturous ways, and forced me not very gently into sitting on the edge of the seats taken by our family, next to a man who, without making much of an effort, took up his seat and half of my own. Throughout the whole flight, I struggled to keep myself in a tightly rolled ball as to avoid kicking or pushing him with my feet. It was hard. I finally fell asleep with my hands tightly clasped together around my knees, and was rudely awoken after only thirty minutes of peace and tranquility by none other than my sister, who then proceeded to reprimand me in loud and extremely irritating tones for taking up too much space on my chair and kicking the man next to me. As IF I had a choice.

Airplanes: the Ups, the Downs, and the In Betweens

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of anticipation of stepping into an airport, knowing that I’m about to embark on a journey that will take me to a far-away land, where I will be able to forget everything about my current life and throw caution to the winds, shout from mountain tops, drink till dawn, and lose myself completely in a whirlwind of excitement…

But, alas, if only the voyage was half as magnificent as the destination.

Which brings me back to my first time flying alone. Having lived in Iowa for a year, I flew back to New York in reunite with my elementary school best friend (and to attend music camp, no less) the summer after 7th grade. For a portion of the flight, I sat next to an Asian family. The grandma sat next to me, whilst a harried-looking mother had collapsed into the seat across the aisle, clutching a plump and restless baby. Halfway into the flight, the baby became too much for its mother, and was handed off quite hurriedly into the waiting arms of Grandma. I remember thinking about all those stories I’d heard about puking babies on airplanes, rendering their vomit-covered victims quite helpless due to a lack of showers and a change of clothes. Bwah haha, those poor blokes. My mind strayed briefly to the possibility of getting spewed upon, but the thought was quickly dismissed, since it was quite certain that such a thing would never happen to me. Then out of the corner of my eye, Grandma shifted her body with lightning speed. Seconds later, chunky, yellow baby spit splattered all over her crisp, pink, suit jacket. I cringed. But due to Grandma’s Matrix-esque reactions, I was narrowly spared the fate of those whom I had so arrogantly scorned. Go Grandma go Grandma, GO.

On the other hand, not all airplane misfortunes end up badly. During one of my first trips back to China, the plane broke down and all passengers were forced to stay overnight in a hotel until the situation could be resolved. (Never fly Air China, by the way. Delays and breakdowns are inevitable.) My sister was still a baby incapable of speech and any other useful contributions besides being excess weight to be hauled around by my mother, not unlike the present. My mother, both exhausted and annoyed, spent the majority of the night chatting with the other mothers. This left a group of kids, including me, free to romp around the hotel doing anything we fancied and probably annoying the crap out of anyone we ran into. Since apparently my mom believed in traveling in style, she had me dressed in a one-piece dress with a red, off shoulder top, and a black skirt decorated with enormous, multi-color polka dots and puffed out with a ridiculous amount of tulle. Whether it was this dress, or whether it was me and my cute, curly bangs, I do not know -- but there was one boy who seemed particularly taken to me. The next day when we finally boarded our flight, the same group of kids ran free as soon as the “fasten your seatbelt” sign blinked off. Unfortunately, I got slightly airsick, and decided to take refuge in a luxurious row of empty seats. The other kids kept on playing, but were brought back to my seat periodically by the Boy, who seemed to be ringleader. The first time the group visited, I had not yet fallen asleep. I vaguely heard the Boy saying, “I have to go see my girlfriend.” Now more alert, I wondered who he could have been talking about. The second time around, I was wide awake, but with my eyes determinedly shut. “Shh!” I heard. And this time, to my very much surprise, I felt a kiss land on my forehead. I shut my eyes tighter. Whether this event lead to a love of boys, or wariness of boys, it is hard to tell.