I carefully sat down in my first class seat, trying not to wrinkle my clean and crisp navy blue business suit. It was another trip, another conference that I had to sit through, another lonely hotel room, and another weekend that I was spending away from my kids. I listened and watched the flight attendant with perfectly set hair and bright pink lipstick; demonstrate the same safety features that I had seen a hundred times before. Soon we were lining up on the runway. I could feel the pressure holding my body tight against the chair. I grasped the grey plastic armrest and took a deep breath. It was another normal take off, another normal flight. Or so I thought.
I was sitting next to an older man. He seemed to be in his late fifties. He too had on a business suit, but his was slightly more wrinkled. His hair was thin and grey. He was reading an article from the old magazine that the airline had provided. To my left there was a younger woman. Her thick blonde hair was dreaded. She wore a turquoise scarf, a brownish dress, and big winter boots. Even over the loud windy sounds that filled the cabin, I could hear her headphones blasting.
Midway through the flight I stood up and walk to the bathroom. I stared at the mirror, judging and critiquing my appearance. “When did I get those wrinkles?” I thought to myself. Then I gasped, “A grey hair!?” I said. I was 36 years old and I was wearing away. I carefully shimmy my way down the aisle back to my seat. The older man next to me was hunkered over, leaning half way in my chair. I gently tapped him on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me sir.” No response. I start shaking him a little harder. Still there was no response. I push the flight attendant button and the Stepford-Wive looking woman approached me. “This man isn’t moving, I think something is wrong.” I whispered. She went back behind her curtain and grabbed two more attendants. The next thing I new the whole plane had broken out in chaos.
To be continued…
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