EXTRA ROOM AIRPLANE SEATS? FOR WHO?

 

From the crowds I’ve seen at airports, people have learned to negotiate the hurdles. With the hope of not being the only old and confused passenger, OCP, I pay attention.

 

Walk up to a screen near the airline you’re flying and key in the info you copied at home from a confirmation email sent by the ticket service.

 

What could go wrong?

 

This time nothing, but that didn’t stop the search on leaving and coming back to Portland.

 

 

Apparently I’ve reached ‘that age’ or achieved ‘that look.’ Something’s pushing the ‘search him’ button. So I shaved off the nasty beard I was trying out.

 

If I needed an excuse, continual airport searching was enough. My beard was a cross between Robert Redford in Jeremiah Johnson, and a cat with the mange. I left a neatly trimmed David Niven mustache I’ll get tired of in about a week.

 

Homeland security already hates it.

 

Besides the extra cuddles checking in, the travel was seamless. Even with unassigned airplane seats we managed to have fun.

 

 

“If you really want to sit together,” I said, “just tell the ticket agent you’re my wife and my comfort animal.”

 

We smiled at each other. I could see her thinking. Behind her smile she was cooking this up, “Don’t you mean the other way around?”

 

Through good luck we sat together on the way out. She sat next to dashing architect who broke out his good time good guy routine, than went to sleep. I had the first seat across the aisle, sharing the row with a mom, grandma, and a four year old kid sleeping across their laps.

 

I fell asleep too since the day started with a 2 a.m. wake up for a 5 a.m. flight.

 

My comfort animal idea was for the ride back. I was in row 8, she was further back.

 

‘Row 8,’ I thought. ‘ Not too far back.’

 

I led the way down the aisle, planning on heaving both of our carry on bags over my head. Row 8 had room. I had the window seat.

 

It took longer than I planned hefting the bags without whacking anyone. I noticed the large crowd packing the aisle. I also noticed all three airplane seats had the armrests tipped up.

 

I smiled at the couple in the row and scooted by. We chit chatted while we waited.

 

“My wife got a seat further back. We’re cheap flyers with unassigned seats,” I said.

 

“We always pay extra for these seats,” the lady next to me said.

 

“Really? I don’t think I paid extra. It was probably one of the last airplane seats open,” I said.

 

===

 

More than once my wife had said I don’t pay attention to detail. To which I say, “Nonsense. I see everything. By the way, where did these flower come from?”

 

 

“Which flowers?”

 

“The flowers on the window sill above the kitchen sink,” I said.

 

“The purple ones?”

 

“Yes. They’re so beautiful.”

 

“They’ve been there for six months.”

 

“I knew that.”

 

===

 

Once the passengers settled in the and the safety talk finished I decided to lower my armrest. By my calculations it would have hit the lady next to me around the middle of the back of her arm.

 

I did a quick inventory. Her leg was twice the size around as my leg. She sat taller in her seat than me, and I’m 6′ 2″.

 

Maybe I didn’t notice her size, she and her husband, when we first started talking because she was such a nice woman. He sounded like a good guy, a dad with an out of state college kid. Both of them were big and still fairly young. Mid-forties.

 

The two rows behind the bulkhead on a 737 get extra money because they’re bigger than the seats and space further back. And who buys more room on airplane seats?

 

Luckily for all of us, getting crowded against an airplane wall is my normal. Once I had the corner seat in the last row from D.C. to Portland, the one that doesn’t recline. With the seat in front of me dropped back and a sleeping passenger’s arm dangling against my bare leg, I’ve managed my calm.

 

What I wouldn’t have done for a pan of warm water?

 

Sitting in the big seats with big people put me right where I liked to be. I was in control of my own comfort zone, which was shrinking fast.

 

It was a short flight from PHX Sky Harbor to PDX. Since I was already pasted to the window I took a bunch of pictures and shared with my two row buddies.

 

 

This must have been a lake. It looks lots different in Oregon. We have water.

 

The further north we flew the more normal it looked. Water was closer.

 

 

A little further along and there’s the range of Cascade Mountains.

 

And then the mighty Columbia, the one river powerful enough to crash through a mountain range.

 

Home again.