Flighty

Funny how the person you sit next to on a plane can make or break your journey. When you sit next to an unthreatening, unobtrusive individual, memories of flights-from-hell all but disappear. I guess I’d been lucky on the way out, a fact that rendered me all the more unprepared for the behaviour of the woman in my adjoining seat this morning.

I've definitely had worse. There was the 2 year old brat who sat next to me and screamed for 5 solid hours on a night flight, while his yuppie dad kept trying to soothingly encourage him to "let it all out, my darling, you know how much I love you". His "let-it-out" policy also extended to an equally delightful nappy-free stance vis a vis his son (in sharp contrast to his ex-wife, about whom he regaled me with appropriate vitriol during those all-too brief screaming recesses.) Anyway, so to this morning. I was very polite when I found her sitting in my window seat, requisite embarrassed smile and everything. To no avail: if looks could have killed in an unforgiving instant, Cedric Diggory would have had nothing on me this morning.

It was all downwind from there. At first I felt bad- I know how smashed hopes of a seemingly spare window seat can irritate, if one is that way inclined. This clearly disgruntled lady slammed on her Discman and pumped up the volume (I think Jennifer Lopez's new album, since you're asking) And then began the abuse- with each filthy look and "accidental" poke in the ribs, I became more enraged. Even the patented Parrot Steely Gaze did nothing to stop her unbridled resistance to my alleged occupation of "her" seat. Eventually there was nothing for it: "DO you mind?" I said a bit too loudly, at which point a scarily smiling stewardess appeared as if by magic. "Is there a problem, madam?" she asked me almost hopefully. PokeWoman swiftly moved her elbow and turned away from me, kindergarten-style, with a pronounced humph. "Sorry madam" my new best friend the stewardess said, her gaze falling on the Discman, "I'm afraid you'll have to switch that off." I suppressed a smirk. Poor stewardess: Hatred had shifted to an object new, even to the point that my psycho neighbour pointedly ignored her when the sandwiches came round. Normal!

I couldn't help but wonder why this woman was generating such violent negativity. Who knows: Maybe she, too, was bitterly disappointed that Drs had apparently got her sister-in-law's due date significantly wrong once she had already flown out to witness the predicted birth of her nephews/nieces and was returning, as it were, empty-handed. Maybe she, too, was sad to leave her family and friends in the "old" country and return to her frenzied craziness in a crazy place. Maybe she also didn't enjoy rising at such an unnecessary hour to sit in a flying can full of reconstituted moisture. And maybe she wasn't lucky enough to have the sadness she was harbouring about any of the above momentarily alleviated by the spectacle of "Teletubbies"-sized Bunny Rabbits gleefully cavorting around Schiphol's runways. Actually, I know for sure about that one, having blocked her view- call it non-violent resistance to unprovoked pokes in the ribs.

Luckily, the good Lord, probably having decided that I'd suffered enough for one morning, seemed to pay more attention to my fervent Traveller's Prayer for the second "leg", and provided me with a nice, unthreatening Dutch couple. I guess I'll have to pray extra-hard for an Alan Rickman-alike next time around. But for now, my prayers are with the next poor unsuspecting soul who will end up sitting next to "my" woman on a plane. Whoever you are, may The Force be with you!