Gilligan's Aisle
It was snowing, and we are stranded. By Jeanne Marie Laskas from the Washington Post Magazine
I PULLED MY RENTAL into a slot at O'Hare, having braved a Chicago snow and a major Friday evening rush. I trudged toward Terminal B, dragging my brand new Travelpro suitcase like a kid with a new sled.
Inside, there were people, bags, packages, babies, strollers, sour faces, a line circling around and around and USAir representatives waving their arms. A monitor above our heads said "Canceled" a lot. And "Delayed" a few times. I found myself on the Delayed team and got in line.
Three hours. That's what my USAir representative said regarding the delay of my flight to Pittsburgh. Three hours. I had two choices: I could lie to myself and say this was a great opportunity to catch up on paperwork. Or I could plunge headfirst into a bad mood.
Soon I was at a snack bar, munching on a piece of vegetarian pizza with broccoli blobs and watching "Wheel of Fortune." Vanna had turned around the letters A -- ETHYST IN THE NEW YEAR.
The guy with several thousand dollars at stake guessed: "B?"
I pulled up the handle of my Travelpro and toddled off to my gate. It was tucked away off the main corridor, a little peninsula unto itself. There were no seats. Well, there were seats. But they were all next to other people, and I was in no mood for other people. Who needs holidays, anyway? And who needs snow? I remembered thinking, as a kid, that the day I hated snow would be the day I got old. I sat on the floor, folded my arms across my chest, and adopted a look of quiet rage.
After about 20 minutes of examining every carpet stain within view, I looked up to see a lady with a Crate & Barrel shopping bag stand up, pick up the bag and take a seat next to another lady with a Crate & Barrel shopping bag.
The first one introduced herself, opened her bag, rooted through tissue paper.
"Twenty-five percent off!" she said, producing a bowl.
"Thirty-three percent off!" said the other, digging a plate out of her bag.
They laughed and started chattering away. The sound of such facile friendship was deeply annoying.
A businessman sitting behind them twisted in his seat and said something. The Crate & Barrel ladies cracked up.
Then a bearded man with a cane seated one spot away joined in, and soon a purple-haired kid pulled off his earphones and started listening in. This happy group had a regular conversation going.
Must be nice, I allowed. If you like that sort of thing.
After an hour, my lower back hurt. A lot. There was a seat open next to the kid. I got up and took it. I could see the kid's hands were purple from the dye rubbing off. "And my mom and my dad split when I was 4," he was telling the Crate & Barrel ladies.
"Aw," said one.
"Uh-huh," said the other.
The businessman caught my eye, said don't I know you from somewhere? We compared travel notes and found no intersections. He introduced me around anyway, and just like that I was in. We swapped stories. Travel stories: Forgotten luggage. Epic delays. Missed connections. Airport chair design.
Two hours into our delay, a Gilligan's Island effect was taking place: We were stranded. We were having a great time.
An hour later there was no sign of departure. And no sign of a USAir representative. The monitor indicated that all but two USAir flights had been canceled: ours and one to Charlotte. A messenger from the Charlotte gate brought news of a plane sliding off the runway. Whoa. A dark-haired man over by the window started snoring loudly.
The businessman laughed, which we took as permission. We all broke up.
It was two hours more before a plane arrived outside our window. "What's the protocol here?" the businessman said. "Should we applaud?"
We took a vote: yes. So when the door opened and the people came out looking as miserable as each of us once had felt, we stood up and clapped.
The people were not amused.
"Hey, what book are you reading?" one of the Crate & Barrel ladies said to a stern-looking man carrying a novel. He stopped in his tracks. He stared at us. We shut up.
"Here," he said, handing over the book. "I'm done."
His generosity prompted us to wonder: What else can we get? And so we requested umbrellas, hats, coats and, finally, cash from the deplaning passengers. We got a magazine and a few newspapers. We were stranded; we were having a great time.
When it came time to board the plane, we lagged behind our fellow travelers. The purple-haired kid carried the Crate & Barrel ladies' bags. We were quiet now. We didn't know what to say. A Crate & Barrel lady broke the silence: "Do you think we should have a reunion sometime?"
This article was originally published in December 1996 issue of Reader's Digest.
As read by Nova May D. Solite, has autism. After showing an print ad from Walt Disney Records, with lots of the most beloved Disney songs.
 |
| Reader's Digest December 1996 |
I PULLED MY RENTAL into a slot at O'Hare, having braved a Chicago snow and a major Friday evening rush. I trudged toward Terminal B, dragging my brand new Travelpro suitcase like a kid with a new sled.
Inside, there were people, bags, packages, babies, strollers, sour faces, a line circling around and around and USAir representatives waving their arms. A monitor above our heads said "Canceled" a lot. And "Delayed" a few times. I found myself on the Delayed team and got in line.
Three hours. That's what my USAir representative said regarding the delay of my flight to Pittsburgh. Three hours. I had two choices: I could lie to myself and say this was a great opportunity to catch up on paperwork. Or I could plunge headfirst into a bad mood.
Soon I was at a snack bar, munching on a piece of vegetarian pizza with broccoli blobs and watching "Wheel of Fortune." Vanna had turned around the letters A -- ETHYST IN THE NEW YEAR.
The guy with several thousand dollars at stake guessed: "B?"
I pulled up the handle of my Travelpro and toddled off to my gate. It was tucked away off the main corridor, a little peninsula unto itself. There were no seats. Well, there were seats. But they were all next to other people, and I was in no mood for other people. Who needs holidays, anyway? And who needs snow? I remembered thinking, as a kid, that the day I hated snow would be the day I got old. I sat on the floor, folded my arms across my chest, and adopted a look of quiet rage.
After about 20 minutes of examining every carpet stain within view, I looked up to see a lady with a Crate & Barrel shopping bag stand up, pick up the bag and take a seat next to another lady with a Crate & Barrel shopping bag.
The first one introduced herself, opened her bag, rooted through tissue paper.
"Twenty-five percent off!" she said, producing a bowl.
"Thirty-three percent off!" said the other, digging a plate out of her bag.
They laughed and started chattering away. The sound of such facile friendship was deeply annoying.
A businessman sitting behind them twisted in his seat and said something. The Crate & Barrel ladies cracked up.
Then a bearded man with a cane seated one spot away joined in, and soon a purple-haired kid pulled off his earphones and started listening in. This happy group had a regular conversation going.
Must be nice, I allowed. If you like that sort of thing.
After an hour, my lower back hurt. A lot. There was a seat open next to the kid. I got up and took it. I could see the kid's hands were purple from the dye rubbing off. "And my mom and my dad split when I was 4," he was telling the Crate & Barrel ladies.
"Aw," said one.
"Uh-huh," said the other.
The businessman caught my eye, said don't I know you from somewhere? We compared travel notes and found no intersections. He introduced me around anyway, and just like that I was in. We swapped stories. Travel stories: Forgotten luggage. Epic delays. Missed connections. Airport chair design.
Two hours into our delay, a Gilligan's Island effect was taking place: We were stranded. We were having a great time.
An hour later there was no sign of departure. And no sign of a USAir representative. The monitor indicated that all but two USAir flights had been canceled: ours and one to Charlotte. A messenger from the Charlotte gate brought news of a plane sliding off the runway. Whoa. A dark-haired man over by the window started snoring loudly.
The businessman laughed, which we took as permission. We all broke up.
It was two hours more before a plane arrived outside our window. "What's the protocol here?" the businessman said. "Should we applaud?"
We took a vote: yes. So when the door opened and the people came out looking as miserable as each of us once had felt, we stood up and clapped.
The people were not amused.
"Hey, what book are you reading?" one of the Crate & Barrel ladies said to a stern-looking man carrying a novel. He stopped in his tracks. He stared at us. We shut up.
"Here," he said, handing over the book. "I'm done."
His generosity prompted us to wonder: What else can we get? And so we requested umbrellas, hats, coats and, finally, cash from the deplaning passengers. We got a magazine and a few newspapers. We were stranded; we were having a great time.
When it came time to board the plane, we lagged behind our fellow travelers. The purple-haired kid carried the Crate & Barrel ladies' bags. We were quiet now. We didn't know what to say. A Crate & Barrel lady broke the silence: "Do you think we should have a reunion sometime?"
This article was originally published in December 1996 issue of Reader's Digest.
As read by Nova May D. Solite, has autism. After showing an print ad from Walt Disney Records, with lots of the most beloved Disney songs.
Comments
Post a Comment