Forgotten Lessons From a Jet Plane - CLIPPING CHAINS

Forgotten Lessons From a Jet Plane

Hi, how are you? I’ve been doing some traveling by plane. After a 15-month hiatus from the grind, I found refreshment in some good-ole’-fashioned civilization this week. Apologies for the departure, but you will find no tips about finances or rock climbing today. This is an essay on the inherent ridiculousness of human nature and the forgotten joys of plane travel.

Life before the plane. McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas.
Life before the plane. McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas.

Before the Plane: The Gate

I can never sit still at the gate waiting on a flight. After all, I’m prone to a long walk. In typical fashion, after clearing security I made my way to my gate in McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. I wanted to first ensure that there were no snags on my flight to Raleigh, giving me the all clear to wander for the next thirty minutes.

Folks of all stripes milled around the gate, waiting to board our full flight. The morning desert light stretched across the carpet. Relentless sun glinted off slot machines and countless liquor bottles of a duty-free store. At the edge of this sprawled mass I opened my phone to double-check the estimated boarding time, momentarily distracted by email. Typical.

Chill bro! Let’s be cool.

The Thud

As I stared at my phone, a sickening thud was quickly followed by the collective gasp of a hoard of on-lookers. That kind of gasp almost always comes from something unexpected and alarming. I felt the hair raise on the back of my neck.

A heavy-set man lay supine on the shining marble tile floor, about thirty feet away from where I leaned lazily against the wall. His feet faced me. Lifeless legs in faded jeans ripped at the knee. His black shirt was pulled up to his chest, exposing a considerable pale-white belly.

Above him stood a clearly agitated African American man in his late 20s to early 30s, with neatly tied-back long dreads and a white, snug t-shirt. This man’s posture was tight and powerful, like a Mojave rattlesnake coiled in striking position. He shouted something unintelligible as another man suddenly jumped from his seat. The second man yelled, “Chill bro! Let’s be cool.”

Flushed looks of concern and bewilderment grew across the faces of the bystanders. Folks were holding their hands to their mouths or scrambling to pull a phone from a pocket or purse. Save for a few hushed whispers and the Celine Dion soundtrack, all was strangely silent.

As this second man knelt down to assess the lifeless form on the floor, several Frontier Airlines personnel awkwardly emerged through the shocked masses. Equally confused on how to handle this circumstance, their faces said, “I value being helpful, but this is not in my employee handbook, I’m not paid enough, and I do not wish to also end up on the floor.” Two-way radios were deployed, as were numerous smartphones undoubtedly in video mode.

Second Round?

Further escalation was my chief concern. Was “chill bro” man going to throw the next punch? I kept my distance, but I sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere.

Men and women in yellow shirts with large, black METRO POLICE lettering moved through a crowd. They had the eyes of someone born to do a job and the voices of middle school gym coaches. The masses slowly parted and morphed like a human amoeba to present a clear path for the approaching officers.

The officers weren’t quite running, but they weren’t taking their time either. Only radios were drawn. One officer waved his arms to clear the few remaining bystanders gathered too close for official duties.

“Wet floor” signs were erected around the stricken man, which I found funny. Spill a coke or knock a man out, it’s still the same slip, trip, or fall hazard.

What Happened

From what I was able to gather from witnesses and overheard by those involved, here’s what happened:

Large man on the ground—let’s call him Mike—walked up to a heavy-set African American woman and proceeded to call her, among other names, a fat black bitch. He informed her that she should be paying for two tickets.

Let me first confirm that Mike was by no means a symbol of American physique. He too was well on his way to 1.5 seats, certainly by Frontier Airline legroom standards.

At some point shortly thereafter, Mike either directly assaulted this woman or her son. In retaliation, the woman’s son—let’s call him Muhammad Ali—stood up and decked Mike in his face and dropped him hard to the floor. Mike’s head hit the marble tile, splitting his head along the back and getting blood everywhere.

“I’m a victim,” said Mike to the yellow shirts. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” he continued. He was also heard saying that this would land him back in rehab.

Meanwhile Muhammad Ali stood peacefully to the side, his arm around his crying and visibly shaken mother. He politely answered any questions asked of him. He made no attempt to flee or cause any further drama.

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How it Ended

The entire scene was captured on video. Mike was taken on a stretcher and arrested for assault. It’s completely reasonable to assume that they tacked on some form of public intoxication as well. Muhammad Ali and his family were able to board our plane to Raleigh.

I heard a woman say, “this was a fucking beautiful day today.” Although seeing someone getting knocked out doesn’t at first ring true as beautiful, I had to agree. 

The airline even let the family board as priority, which was a nice gesture.

What happens in Vegas…

(Related Post: Fear and Limping (Alone) in Las Vegas)

Just a heads up, but I MIGHT THROW UP.

Girl on a plane.
Photo: Pexels/Jason Toevs

Girl on the Plane

As I boarded the plane, I found my middle seat open. A 20-something girl sat sulking against the window, her dark hair pulled back in a messy run-out-the-door ponytail. She looked up when I stopped to double-check my ticket.

A mask covered her face, but I could tell from her eyes that she would have preferred that I missed the flight. I said hi, she said the same, and we spent the next hour wondering to ourselves when we’d be taking off and why the hell it was taking so long.

The flight attendant confirmed that this would be a full flight. However, the aisle seat in my row was curiously unoccupied. Extra leg room on account of Mike!?

Liftoff

Soon after liftoff, through the tiny portal I watched dust envelop the city of Las Vegas, swirling through sustained winds expected at 30mph+. Our plane rocked back and forth as we climbed. As the portal presented contrasting blue sky and gray desert, I noticed my neighbor lifting her hands to her face. Her eyes grew to the size of eggs. The nose of the plane pointed toward the heavens, yawing, rolling, and pitching.

She moved quickly, straining to mash the attendant button. A notable ping rang throughout the humming fuselage. “Please note that during this time no one is allowed to move about the cabin,” the attendant said over the intercom. “If this is a medical emergency, please press the attendant button twice more.”

I turned to my neighbor, not knowing what to do. Her face was buried in her hands. I’m the kind of person who cares about other people, I thought to myself. But I also respects their privacy.

As if reading my mind, she looked up with great concern. “Just a heads up,” she said, “but garble blah blixing cognagitz.”

“What was that?” I asked.

She repeated, louder but only for me to hear, “Just a heads up but I might throw up.”

OKAY, I thought, suddenly very concerned for my pants. My thoughts went immediately to the doggy bags in the mesh pocket that I remembered from flying with my parents in the 90s. There, behind the neglected safety placard was the white, unassuming bag. Ready-for-chunks. I grabbed that sucker like a kid on a waffle cone and handed it her way. Wide-eyed and brimming, I said with my mind, HERE YOU GO, HAVE THIS PLEASE.

Life is Coming Back

Luckily for everyone in a 20-foot radius of row 6, my neighbor did not vomit. The flight was, from this point forward, uneventful.

The end of the day nearly brought me to tears. It felt so good to see a bunch of people gather around a good ole-fashioned fist fight. And it’s been years since someone puked on me! And my, how long it’s been since I’ve felt the palpable frustration of a rental car line full of people without reservations. Who does that? Oh, and my hotel in Raleigh even had a pitcher for making sweet tea. I do de-clare. What a refreshing dose of civilization, and a hearty welcome back to the world.


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