From long security lines to irritable employees to delayed flights, I can’t think of many experiences more stressful than the airport. Once I pass through TSA hell, I normally make a beeline to my plane and board as early as I can. I view the flight itself as reprieve from life on planet Earth.
I like that cell phone usage isn’t permitted. The airplane is one of the few places I can’t be bothered by my boss, spouse, or kids. That hunk of tin moving at warp speed through the air is my personal oasis. It’s my time to catch up on reading, writing, or, oftentimes, sleep. That is unless I’m sitting next to one of these seven passengers.
He stands up on take-off screaming, “Where am I!”
True story. I was on a flight from Tokyo to New York. As the plane accelerated down the runway, the passenger next to me jumped out of his seat and started screaming, “Where am I!”
I’m not going to lie — I was scared. Was he some sort of terrorist that happened to look like Rick Steves? Eventually, one of the flight attendants risked his own safety to calm the passenger down as the airplane wheels lifted off the ground.
I didn’t catch a wink that entire 12-hour flight. If terrorist Rick Steves acted up again, I was the vigilante ready to take him down.