Who Falls Off an Airplane?? - or - Adventures in Air-Travel

I have just had the (wonderful) opportunity to visit my sister and her family for a week. So many beautiful things happened this past week, and I will write about those soon. But, considering the fact that I spent two full days in airports and on airplanes, I would like to take a moment and focus on just that: airports and airplanes.

I woke up at an ungodly hour - and forced Cat to wake up at an ungodly hour so she could drive me to the airport - and was on a plane by 6 am. The flight to LAX was pretty smooth, ignoring the fact that I set off the metal detector at the airport, but they couldn't find the reason...Or the fact that although I did renew my license I didn't do it with enough time to receive my new one before the trip...And the fact that the plane was so small it felt like we were being flung around by every gust of wind - and it was a very windy morning.

I was determined to be cool, calm, and collected. I wanted my nameless fellow travelers to see me as a sophisticated woman who doesn't bat an eye at the aspect of flying somewhere new. The problem was that I am more curious little girl than sophisticated woman. My eyes were wide, darting around, trying to take everything in.

There are fascinating things to see everywhere, but airports, I have found, are amazing places for people-watching, finding character fodder, and all-around observation of the silly, sweet, tender, and ridiculous. For example, I after being at LAX for 10 minutes (including sitting on the runway) I had seen 2 street-sweepers (runway-sweepers?), 2 vending machines for iPods and the like (no joke), and Jude Law look-alike. I know he was a look-alike, and not actually Jude Law,

This is really Jude Law, NOT the guy I saw standing at the airport...

because he was standing at the gate waiting with the rest of us poor shmucks who hadn't made it in time to snag a chair. And as I still had about an hour and a half before boarding for my next flight I wandered about 20 feet and found a Starbucks. With coffee in hand I went back to wait to board the flight, humming along to the piano version of the one Phantom of the Opera song they played over and over and over and over...

My layover in Chicago was shorter, but I discovered quite a few things while waiting:

-I must have little minions or something who love me, because the first thing I saw upon leaving the plane was a Starbucks! YES!

-I could have gotten a flu shot, or for $30 more, a pneumonia shot. Nice...

-All of the workers I encountered had a serious attitude problem.

The return trip, however, was where my main excitement happened. I had given up the hope of ever appearing elegant or sophisticated, and hoped instead to enjoy my Milk Duds and a book and see if I might discover anything in the other passengers that might suit a story or something. Imagine my dismay when I sat down and realized my row-mate was a man who chose to take part of my seat and apparently felt that personal hygiene was optional. I curled into the window and (luckily) lost myself in my book. The flight was smooth, and I was only disrupted by a few snores from my neighbor - really, it wasn't too bad.

However...when we landed, and my neighbor decided he would be first off the plane I decided to be patient and wait. After all, I reasoned, I didn't want to rush and (knowing me) fall and hurt myself. When I finally got to the door of the plane I smiled and thanked the flight attendant and stepped to the top of a small flight of stairs. Careful, Steph, I thought. You don't want to fall...That would be embarrassing and potentially painful. I made it down the first two steps with no problem. But then I put my left foot down and slid forward. I still don't know how it happened, but somehow my foot slid through the front of my sandal, popping the upper out of the sole. I slid down the last two steps, frantically grabbed the handrail, and held on for dear life. I somehow landed on my feet on the tarmac, my rear about 2 inches from the concrete.

Fabulous.

The rest of the passengers, waiting on the tarmac for their carry-ons that had to be gate checked, turned their eyes away from me...Afraid to see my embarrassment, I'm sure. I laughed at myself, picked up my shoe and held it up. "My shoe broke," I announced, wanting to be sure they all knew I am not simply a clutz. "It was my shoe. My shoe broke." People nodded, obviously not believing me. "You okay, miss?" an airport employee asked, laughing at me.

"My shoe broke," I answered, loud enough that everyone could hear me. It didn't matter. They continued ignoring me. "My shoe broke," I muttered as I hobbled across the tarmac trying to put the upper back in the sole. I walked through a wing of the airport with one shoe on, laughing and shaking my head. I pulled out my phone and texted my friends...I needed to share this with someone! Other travelers saw me and gave me a wide berth, wanting to avoid the crazy lady with one shoe on who was muttering to herself. I finally fixed my shoe and slipped it back on, and followed the signs to my gate. I slowed to a stop as I looked out a giant window...There was a crystal clear view of the plane I had just fallen off. I shrugged off the knowledge that it was not only the other passengers of my flight that had seen me fall but anyone who happened to look out that window. I kept walking (and had yet another Starbucks) and then stopped in my tracks. There was another giant window. "Great."

I took the escalator down to my gate (I was understandably a little nervous about stairs) and made my way to a chair. I stopped again. "Oh, man!" People around me looked over then quickly away, wanting to avoid any contact with a crazy lady. There, taking up the entire wall, was yet another giant window with a clear view of my plane. "Wonderful!"

My only consolation was the hope that people may not have looked out the window at the exact moment I fell off the plane. Well, that and the fact that there was a man waiting at the gate who was doing yoga right in the middle of the floor.

Yes...There was someone who was really doing this.

So I wasn't the only crazy person in the airport that day.

Job 8:21