It’s one of those days. I’m tired, I’m flying. I have to wake up early for work, pack the barest minimal of clothing in order to fit everything into one carry-on bag (since airlines have started charging for checked baggage), skip my morning workout, check to make sure I’ve dotted my I’s and minded my Ps and Qs, walk out the door, and make sure that the door doesn’t hit me on the way out. Take train to station. Take shuttle from station to airport. Stand in line. Get boarding pass. Stand in line to get thru security. Take computer out, take sundries out. Take shoes and coat off. Get ‘randomly selected’. Get patted down by dour faced woman. Stand in line for sandwich. Eat sandwich at gate. Stand in line for boarding. I have a cross-country flight for work and I’m looking forward to sitting down and sleeping lightly for the next few hours.
There is some kid jumping on my seat. She’s about 3, and adorable, but fuck it, she’s standing and screaming in my seat.
“She’s in my seat.” I say flatly to the mother of the 3 year old jumping bean. I’m tired and my ears already hurt, I’m being plain but I don’t think I’m saying anything that isn’t TRUE.
“Oh, can we sit together? The seats they gave are.. “ the mom indicates to the center seat in the next aisle. Her husband waves from the row behind. They were given a 2 center seats and 1 window seat. My seat? It’s an AISLE seat.
The mother looks at me expectantly. The little animal continues to stamp on the seat of contention. “I can’t leave her alone,” the mother responds flatly to my face of disbelief.
Passive aggressiveness makes me avert my eyes. “Only if I can get my bag up into the overhead bin.” I look to put in my stuff in the overhead and it’s chock full of small wee one toys and diapers or what not, but it’s not organized into a box-like configuration and therefore is taking up more room than one piece of carry-on luggage. I sigh and shove as much of it as possible to the side so I can fit my luggage in.
“Thank you,” she probably says, but I’m too busy ignoring her cuz I’m PISSED. OF COURSE I’ll take the awful center seat. She’s a MOTHER, she’s got problems triple that of mine, the single woman that I am. I have freedom of movement. She has to be tethered to that fur ball 24 hours a day. A mother is HOLY in most cultures, she’s a saint, a woman of virtue, untouchable and needed in this world: she bred and somehow, we –the pitiful childless- have to be kind to her because she IS sacrificing her life to make the life of someone else’s possible. I don’t WANT to give up my seat (I pee a lot and therefore I get up a lot, that’s why I always book an aisle seat), but I’d be an ASSHOLE if I didn’t.
Part of me wants to say, “If you’re going to travel with a child and you know you have to sit next to her, you should have booked the seats that way.” Or “You should’ve taken a flight where your seats were together” or “Thanks for imposing your child-bearing decisions onto my life.” But I bit my tongue and simply HATED her for the rest of the flight… as the Dancing Bubble of Joy continued to stand and scream and make full use of her youthful lungs as she reminded all of us she was a child and therefore special. I hope to god that kid’s paying extra for my social security in 20 years.
??? Kids on planes: discuss amongst yourselves. 
Kids don’t belong on planes. They belong on long roadtrips in their own carseat with their little sippy cups and funky diapers. If you’re gonna bring your little spawn of satan on a plane just drug them and keep it moving.
That is all.
Just back from 30 hours of travel getting from Sevilla, Spain, to SFO. Travel is hell under any circumstance. When my kids were infants and toddlers, I did take them on planes, but I gave them quasi-legal alcohol-laden Indian “gripe water” to make them tolerable to me, and to other passengers. Knocked them out and somehow prevented them from pooping themselves.
I hate kids on planes. I flew from Tokyo to NYC a few years ago. I had borrowed a friend’s Bose noise-canceling headphones. They didn’t work. I had a crying baby about ten rows behind me, one about two rows in front of me, and one about fifteen rows in front of me. I suppose it’s my fault for not drugging myself or getting wasted to the point on not caring beforehand, but the crying went on for a good ten hours. Not all at the same time. It was like a symphony of pain. Never in my life have I wanted the plane that I was on to plummet from the sky and disintegrate into the sea below…until that flight.
Hey Dumb Azz – why did you take bitch position, when you could have swapped for the window seat?
Beverly, I completely agree. I hate people who put you in uncomfortable positions that are impossible to get out of. I had to sit next to a woman whose kid sat “on her lap” because she was too cheap to buy 2 tickets . Guess who got kicked by the kid the whole 4 hours?
Has anyone ever been on a MAC (military airlift command) flight? It looks just like photo in the blog.