We were still in the air, and I wasn’t able to fall asleep. Since the non-smoking sign caught my attention earlier, I thought I should think of that. Legend has it there was a time when you actually could smoke on the plane. They had split the plane longwise with the same invisible line you would have drawn between you and your sibling when you wanted your own space. You know the one where you would say, “You can’t cross that line.” But they always would because that line was imaginary. It didn’t work in childhood, and it wasn’t going to work on a plane.
But now that I am thinking about it was smoking on the plane such a bad idea? I mean, after all, didn’t the smoke kind of mask that farty smell? Or did the plane just become a gaseous and smoke-filled tube of puff that no one could escape? I started to imagine people getting off the plane with this invisible cloud floating around them, kind of like Pig Pen. Every time they move the folds in their clothing would release the kind of smells that made people take notice, and not the good kind.
I don’t know if you have ever been the position of being in transit all day, but it does wear you out. Even the simplest directions become hard to understand. You get irritated at the sound of your own breathing and completely confused by the easiest of questions. Things like “Would you like a receipt?” or “Is this YOUR bag?” Your mind scrambles to make sense of the question and along with the 3,000 plus miles you just traveled the best answer you can come up with is, “It’s not mine, officer.” Then when they say, “you’re going to have to come with me, ma’am.” You respond as if they have asked you question, when, in fact, they have not, they have given you a command. Which later explains why you looked so dumbfounded on the surveillance camera when they dispatched three security guards to secure the area.
Combine that with the pot of coffee you just drank to keep one eye open and the simplest task becomes nearly impossible to complete. All I see is my brain looking more like my MAC with the pinwheel spinning around and a little window pops up saying, “Not enough memory to complete the task.”
I know that sounds extreme but we already been on this plane for over eight hours and that is how I feel right now. My mind is on temporary pause, my whole being is covered in jet trash, and it seems to cling to every pore of my being every time I fly. It’s awful. It’s no way to travel. It’s the only way to travel, quickly. Where is my oxygen mask? If I don’t need it now, there is a good chance I might need it later.