Alternate title: Things I Won’t Miss When I Am Deaf
Most people aren’t bothered by being crammed into an oversized cigar tube traveling over 500 mph through the sky. Some might be like my daughter, excited to experience the sudden shaking mid-flight, the abrupt elevation change, enjoying the heavenly roller coaster. Not me.
I’d Rather Clean Toilets Than Fly
I start getting nervous about flying 24 hours before take-off, wondering about the pilot’s eyesight, security, the weather. When it comes time to board, I walk the aisle touching each seat I pass until I get to my row. I’ve already surveyed my fellow passengers at the gate, guessing who might be the fastest, strongest, who might be untrustworthy upon exit. When —not if — we crash, I’ve made sure I’ll know how many steps to take to find the closest door in the dark. What’s more, I never drink alcohol on a flight because I want to be a sober swimmer. The same goes for flying over land. No alcohol. I need to be able to run away from the plane, Hollywood-style, before it bursts into flames.
On a recent flight, I planned to read Ann Patchett’s “The Dutch House” — assured this distraction would last me the entire flight. I’ve gone back in time to 1940, and am being introduced to a beautiful mansion in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Suddenly, a loud talker bulldozes her way into the tour, greeting her neighbor in seat 12B. I look up long enough to see this traveler’s face, as she places her bag in the overhead compartment and takes her seat one row in front of me.
Determined to return to the mansion, I see the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor, the large portraits of generations’ past placed over the stone fireplace, and picture the stern-faced father admonishing his son over breakfast. But, it appears my flight friend has caught a terrible case of diarrhea of the mouth, the poor thing. Her musings are loud, vibrating, and beckoning all within hearing distance to know that she has fears: currently spiders and airplanes.
Unfortunately, This Woman Is Not Afraid of Word Vomit
She’s a part-time bartender, making $70K a year because working nine to five in an office is boring. Her daughter is about to turn 13. After a week of visiting a friend in Texas, this mom can’t wait to go home to be with her daughter. Did she mention her daughter will be 13? She’s throwing a party for her. I look around at the other conversation prisoners, confirming none of us cares about the party. I cannot tell if this woman’s seatmate is engaging her in banter or not. All I hear is the one-way talking bartender/mother will get her BSN degree because she doesn’t want to make drinks for thirsty people for the rest of her life. She is 32.
I quickly deduce she was still a teen when she became a mother. That must have been a challenge. I wonder if her loud talking is a side effect of young motherhood. My dad is 82 and wears hearing aids; his mother had them at his age too. He tends to miss a portion of conversations, getting irritated that he can’t follow every word people say. I understand his frustration and dread knowing that I’ll be hard of hearing someday too. But, today is different.
I Wish That I Was Deaf at Cruising Altitude
This mega-phone talker is still at it after 45 minutes in flight. I don’t have earbuds, so I consider walking out on the wing or spending 30 minutes in the always pristine airplane bathroom. None will bring peace, I decide. Instead, I take a deep breath, unbuckle my seatbelt, stand, and dramatically clear my throat. When I begin reading my book out loud, it is apparent that I am competing for the most obnoxious passenger. Lucky for the listeners, the page I read is chock-full of activity. I read, from a boy’s perspective, about his father’s untimely death and the moment his stepmother, Andrea, tells his older sister to leave the house. By the way, when I read that part aloud, I ensure Andrea sounds as sinister as I imagine her. From the lack of eye contact, I guess my neighbors to my left and right are just as interested in eavesdropping as listening to storytime.
Before I can finish sharing the second paragraph from my book, a man seated across the aisle starts speaking. I’m thrilled someone has joined in. Not unlike Humphrey Bogart, he addresses the audience saying, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” I quickly glance over to see the subtitles in the movie he is watching cue his next line. I’ve abandoned my book now, my attention directed at a woman in the row behind Bogart. She is smirking while shouting her grocery list typed into her phone. “Grapes, lettuce, chicken breast, coffee, Jimmy’s allergy meds.” She suddenly realizes what she’s forgotten and type-says “g-u-m-m-y b-e-a-r-s.”
The 13-year mama stops her monologue and reads her audience. I cannot contain my grin, take my seat, deciding flying isn’t so bad after all.
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Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay
