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Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity at all knows I hate to fly. Mostly, I hate to fly because I am afraid of dying. More specifically, I am afraid of burning to death in a steel-encased coffin, while sitting next to some bimbo wearing a “Team Jennifer” T-shirt, indicating that she thinks Brad What’s His Name should have stuck with Jennifer What’s Her Name, instead of dumping her to shack up with that weird lady, Angie What’s Her Name.
And yes, those shirts really exist. I saw one in the airport the other day.
But cowardice is not the only reason I hate flying. I actually hate it for three reasons.
1. Fear. But I can usually beat back the fear with the right combination of Xanax and Martinis. So that’s manageable. Until my liver ups and quits on me, anyway.
2. Boredom. I can’t stand sitting on planes and in airports. But again, a little bit of Xanax and a couple of martinis can take care of this, too. Because with the right combination of drugs and liquor, even airports can be interesting.
3. The people. Yes, the people. The people who want to talk to you. The people you have to listen to when they talk loudly to other people, or on their cell phone. I hate airport people. And I think I just met the worst airport person of all.
I was flying to Washington, DC, to do my two-day Master Class seminar there (what a great group, with tons of good stories; more on that later).
I had reached what we here at Crescenzo Communications call Peak Flying Period (PFP), that brief window of opportunity when I have leveraged the core competencies of both the Xanax and the gin, and have kicked the holy living hell out of the fear of flying paradigm.
So I was happily ambling down the aisle of the plane during boarding, smiling at everyone like an idiot, looking for my aisle seat. Because I fly so much, I am on some kind of frequent flier program where I always get an aisle seat. I need an aisle seat, because I can’t stand to be penned in by the window or, God forbid, the middle seat.
So I was floating along, looking for my seat number, when it happened. It was a middle seat. A mistake had been made. I frantically looked for a flight attendant. There were none. The line was piling up behind me.
I had no choice. I had to go in. So I politely said to the woman on the aisle:
“Excuse me, I have to get in there,” and pointed to the middle seat, where she had piled up all her carry-on junk.
And this is where everything went to hell.
I know you’re not supposed to write in all caps online . . . but to accurately portray the sound of this woman’s voice, I have to. When she spoke, the entire plane could hear her.
“YOU’RE IN THE MIDDLE?” she said in a loud, booming voice, looking me up and down, as half the plane looked up from their magazines to watch the show.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” I said, as quietly as I could.
“YOU SAD SON OF A BITCH. THE MIDDLE, HUH?”
“Yes,” I said, as the other half of the plane started watching, and I could feel the precious xanax/gin potion seep out of my pores all at once, and the heavy lead blanket of sobriety settle on top of me.
To lighten things up, I said:
“I know, I know. And I’m a big fat guy, too.”
“YOU’RE NOT KIDDING,” the woman screamed in her big man voice. “ALL RIGHT TINY, SQUEEZE ON IN THERE.”
I swear I am not making this up. She called me Tiny and the entire plane laughed. I felt like I was in the schoolyard again, with patches of my hair falling out, and the other kids calling me cue ball and Kojak.
If you can believe it, things actually got worse from there. I squeezed into my seat, and put my iPod headphones on immediately and shut my eyes. I can tell a talker right away, and this woman was a talker. A LOUD TALKER.
So I’m sitting there, eyes shut, listening to Cat Stevens, and I crack my eyes a little to see what Big Mouth is up to. And I see her taking all the magazines out of my seat pocket. She was stealing my magazines! I shut my eyes even tighter.
Then, because the plane was delayed, they started a movie. I immediately put the movie headphones on and pretended to watch.
And this woman . . . this horrible, mean, bully of a woman, started watching the movie—but she wouldn’t put the headphones on! She would just watch the picture . . . and ask me questions.
“OH, IS THAT THE GIRL’S FATHER?” She would boom, trying to guess what was happening.
“No, I would whisper, after taking my headphones off. “That is her uncle. Her father is dead.”
Then, two minutes later.
“UH OH, THAT DOESN’T LOOK GOOD,” she would say, nudging me in the ribs. “LOOKS LIKE SHE’S IN DEEP SHIT NOW.”
And on, and on, and on.
Finally, the flight was over. The Beast talked the entire time. She didn’t take a breath, as far as I could tell. At one point, I actually apologized to my son, and started praying for the plane to hit a mountain.
I got off the plane as fast as I could, got in a cab, got to the hotel, and went to check in.
And there she was. The Beast. The Mouth. At the hotel where I would be spending the next two days.
“HEY, IT’S MY BUDDY!” she said, so the entire lobby could hear her. “WE COULD HAVE SHARED A CAB! I GUESS I’LL BE SEEING YOU IN THE HOTEL BAR, HUH?”
I have never in my life canceled a seminar . . . but I came awful close last week. The thought of ever running into this woman again was almost enough to send me scurrying back to Chicago.
I stayed in DC, but I also came to a conclusion. I’m buying a big bus, like John Madden, and will be taking that around the country to teach seminars. Yes, it will be expensive . . . but when I think of the money I’ll save on airport martinis and Xanax, let alone a defense lawyer when I finally snap and kill a fellow passenger, it will be worth it.
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Feels like Total Recall. Er, Philip K Dick?
Actually, with Steve's example it's a bit scary --- standing at the urinal...
Comments (16)
SC, Had I been on that plane, I'm sure the last five meals would've come out my nose. Would you please please PLEASE put vignettes in a book? Only problem is that it would be a big hit & you'd have to go on tour IN A PLANE! I think the Madden bus is the way to go. Cup-holders and martini shakers at every seat.
OMG!!!!!! You could take a seminar on the road!---DUH!!!! Instead of coming to Chicago, people could meet up in KC or someplace (sorry, not too familiar w/the Midwest), then travel by BUS *to* Chicago, with you instructing and drink mixing all along the way. I demand to be on the planning committee for this one: 9:00-10:30 we discuss communicating with clients and 10:45-noon we discuss communicating with management. Then from noon to 3pm we communicate with our livers, and from 3 to 5 pm, we communicate with our pillows, before we pull up to the Chop House for dinner. There, I've planned the first day. How hard can it be?
Posted by Laurel | November 8, 2005 11:43 AM
Posted on November 8, 2005 11:43
Laruel . . . I love the way you are thinking. A Master Class road trip!!
But let's do it this way:
We start in Chicago, opening night at the Chop House, Andy's Jazz, and B.L.U.E.S. Then, the next day we hit the road, teaching the entire way, to St. Louis. Happy hour on the bus starts at 3, the seminar goes to 4. So there is a one hour overlap.
From St. Louis, we go to Denver. Same thing. Eating, drinking, learning, sharing, weeping, drinking, loving, drinking the whole damned day.
At Denver, we rent a chalet (I see about 25 people in the group), and take a couple of days to ski and learn and eat and drink and the whole bit.
Then we drive to San Fran. Same thing. From there, up to Seattle, where we wrap up.
I'll talk to Ragan about it. The Master CLass Road Trip. It could be the next big thing.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | November 8, 2005 1:18 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 13:18
SC---I'm down...sign me up for the seat farthest from the can. =)
Posted by Laurel | November 8, 2005 1:31 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 13:31
Steve, you are hilarious...this story had me laughing out loud! Sorry you had to deal with this brute of a woman, but it was entertaining to read your description of this painful airport/hotel encounter.
Count me in for the Master Class road trip (maybe there could be a Texas leg of the trip?)--I can't believe it has already been a year since I was in your DC class and our group had some excellent communication discussions over martinis at the bar.
Posted by Sonya | November 8, 2005 1:31 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 13:31
Sonya!
YOu're in! And we'll adjust the itinerary to swing by Austin, for some live music and learnin'.
(We'll keep pushing the "learnin'" so people get approval to go).
That was a good group in DC that time. The last two times in DC, we've had great groups at the bar after the seminar.
Hey, what was the name of that gourmet food market down in Texas that you told me about?
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | November 8, 2005 1:37 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 13:37
Steve, that was Central Market, which is a division of my company (H-E-B Grocery Company). Central Market has locations in Dallas, Austin, Houston, and San Antonio, so make sure you check one out next time you are in state. You are such a foodie I think you will really enjoy it!
Posted by Sonya | November 8, 2005 2:14 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 14:14
Steve-
You know your saga could have been worse: The brute lady could have been in your class. How fun would that have been?
Can I sign up for the Northern leg of the Tour? I need you to pick me up in the Minneapolis-St Paul area. Maybe it could be a Mississippi River Run - from the headwaters of Big Muddy all the way to the Big Easy.
You have to promise, though, that if you do the Madden Cruiser thing, you can't plaster pictures of Turkey drumsticks on the side of the bus.
Posted by Mark Lindner | November 8, 2005 2:55 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 14:55
Mark:
You don't have to tell me. I lay in bed that night, shivering with the possibility that she could have been in my class.
I don't know what I would have done. Seriously. It takes a lot to throw me off during a seminar (I'm used to awful rooms, equipment that doesn't work, having to steal cookies and other afternoon treats from other groups and other weird stuff) but this could have done it.
Okay, you're in. We'll do a northern leg that swings by Mark Ragan's cabin in Montana. He'll let us use it, I'm sure, for a couple of days.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | November 8, 2005 3:17 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 15:17
I am also familiar with the nuances of seminars.
One of my classics was conducting a training session in Thief River Falls, MN. If you don't know where that is, start at the far Norhtwest border between Minnesota and Canada and work your way down. It won't take long to get there. The town is on State Highway 59; about a half hour south of the city there is a billboard advertising that this is the "fastest Way to Winnipeg." Anyway, it was late-April and snowing outside. The heater for the hotel was malfunctioning so the entire group was huddled in winter jackets and trying to hear me through chattering teeth. A few of them threatened to burn my handouts to stay warm.
Unfortunately, I have also had to endure the stupidity of people, as well. I try to convince everyone that there is no such thing as a stupid question; but that is simply not true. Five years of doing seminars has taught me that there are a lot of stupid questions.
Posted by Mark Lindner | November 8, 2005 4:13 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 16:13
Don't forget the southwestern leg of the road class, Steve. You've got to add Phoenix - the perfect refuge from Midwestern winters. As an enticement, my cohorts and I promise not to you walk all over downtown Phoenix the way Shel did to us in NY when he was in dire need of that deli fix. Instead, we'll share all our employee communications war stories (hits & misses) over lots of libations.
By the way, I can relate to your traveling companion nightmare. I had a similar experience on a flight to Omaha - only mine was a very chatty gentleman. The kicker was the same man was on my flight home, too. (Sigh)
Posted by Colleen | November 8, 2005 10:45 PM
Posted on November 8, 2005 22:45
Colleen:
That is a great idea. We can plan the Southwestern leg for right about the beginning of March . . . spring training.
Remember that death march to the deli? And then the size of that salad? That salad could have fed a family of four for a month in Rwanda.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | November 9, 2005 6:50 AM
Posted on November 9, 2005 06:50
No problem on the including Phoenix is March. We'll make sure you can park the bus near Hohokam Stadium (yes, that's where your Cubs train).
The deli death march was indeed an experience - which of course is why we opted for the cab back to the hotel. You know the portions are huge when I not only can't finish a dessert but shared it with all of you and there was still some left!
And, in addition to sharing stories of deli death marches and the requisite encounter with an obnoxious drunk in the hotel bar - the night prior to your arrival, Steve - my cohorts benefitted greatly from all the information and ideas I gleaned from you class and the subsequent conference.
Posted by Colleen | November 9, 2005 7:05 AM
Posted on November 9, 2005 07:05
Steve:
I volunteer to be on-bus musical entertainment if I can get a break on the "rolling seminar" fee.
Greg
Posted by Greg Marsh | November 9, 2005 1:43 PM
Posted on November 9, 2005 13:43
Steve,
You and Colleen are a couple of pikers. I was on the death march not only to the deli, but then back to the hotel. You needed the march to work off the five pounds of pastrami they put in the sandwiches.
Maybe if you had participated in the return march, your traveling companion wouldn't have called you "Tiny." Probably still would have called you a "sad son of a bitch" though. Some things just shine through.
Posted by Ken H | November 10, 2005 1:14 PM
Posted on November 10, 2005 13:14
Wow Steve,
I was reading this story and was waiting for the witty comment you made to shut this person up, make her feel small and cry in the bathroom the whole flight. But you decided you coward in your seat like a little school girl and ran to your blog and pouted about it. Maybe you should which from martinis to scotch or better yet some Jack.
Jack always made me kind of violent!
Posted by A N | November 11, 2005 8:22 AM
Posted on November 11, 2005 08:22
Ken, I am no piker. It's HARD to wallow around Manhattan after eating seventeen pounds of pastrami.
And A N, there were no witty words to shut this woman up. She was a force of nature. I didn't even tell one part of the story:
I ordered two of those little baby bottles of red wine. I would have ordered seven, but they only give you two at a time, sometimes.
Now, my seat mate was also drinking red wine.
Well, I drank one, and then went to open the second. And it was broke. It wouldn't twist off. It just kept twisting and twisting. So I tried to gnaw it off with my teeth.
She saw me, and starts screaming for the flight attendant:
WE'VE GOT A BAD BOTTLE OF WINE HERE. HE CAN'T OPEN HIS WINE. WE NEED A NEW BOTTLE OF WINE HERE.
Next thing I know, without saying a word, I have a new bottle of wine . . . and then five mintutes later, her and I BOTH have glasses of the good first class wine, in regular glasses.
And she turns to me and says,
THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.
And I had no idea what she was talking about. I think she demanded wine for both of us because my bottle was broke . . . but I can't be sure.
I am still having bad dreams about her. Churchill would have cowered before this woman. Patton would have been afraid.
Steve
Posted by Steve C. | November 11, 2005 9:46 AM
Posted on November 11, 2005 09:46