Last Updated on March 1, 2010 by James Dziezynski
On the plane from Denver to Santa Clara, I have the distinct pleasure of being able to gauge the source of my discomfort. The thermometer on my watch reads 94 degrees. All around me, pink mottled heads are dewy with watery buttons of sweat. My wrist beneath my watch is slimy and slick and each breath feels likes it’s being drawn with a pillow over my face while under the covers.
And yet… BING! The service call light goes on. A few rows in front of me, a horrible, shrill old woman is complaining that it’s too cold. She does so with an equally horrible and shrill voice and goes as so far as to accuse the flight attendants of being lazy and stupid. One can only hope the chill she alleges to feel is because the specter of death is close to reaping her horrible, shrill soul.
Harsh? In retrospect, perhaps. However, when you’re crammed into economy class the last thing you need is someone of any age thinking the world revolves around their corpse.
BING! “What’s the matter with you people, I asked you to turn the heat up?” My watch now reads 95. The woman next to me is taking the ice out of her drink and rubbing it on the back of her neck. A woman sitting next to the old crow loudly offers her a sweater, the logic being that if you are cold in 95 degree heat at least maybe a sweater will shut you up. The old woman berates her and says, quote ” I don’t want your stupid sweater”.
Finally, a small woman loudly but politely asks to turn the heat down. The notion is seconded and thirded, if that’s a word. Freezing Franny is shocked at this notion and her crabby old jaw hangs agape, a prime opportunity to slap a piece of duct tape across her sagging face. Angrily she announces to the whole plane “I said turn the heat up!”
The following hour or so, my thermometer doesn’t dip below 94. It’s March 1st and yet, it might as well be July 1st in Death Valley. When we finally land, people are parched, sweaty and eager to crawl into the nearest walk-in freezer. As we deplane, the hag gets in one last shot at the crew and vows to “complain to their superiors” which she no doubt will do. Did I mention the flight attendents offered her blankets several times (which she refused) and even to move her seat, closer perhpas to a heat-radiating fat guy?
Again, in retrospect my assessment seems a little mean but man, was she ever driving the entire plane bonkers. It may have sucked for us but just think, she was flying SOMEWHERE presumably to meet someone who doesn’t have the luxury of never seeing her again.
Welcome to California!
