Thursday, April 21, 2016

Flying to Houston

Flying to Houston yesterday, I drew A31, which meant I was at the front of the line on the right, because A1 - A30 lines up on the left. That also meant I was side by side with A1. Every A1 I've ever seen is a white guy with earphones or bluetooth, talking business on his cell phone incessantly, who never smiles at any one around him, or even makes eye contact. There's just something about them that makes my skin crawl. And when we were asked to line up, he saunters up late and takes his spot to my right and we stand there for a LONG time. I'm not sure what the hold up was, but the plane had emptied and there were three folks in wheelchairs waiting to pre-board and nothing was happening. 

We also had our flight crew also waiting, as well as a pilot who was riding as a passenger to get home for a couple of days in OKC, which was our first stop on the way to Houston. That guy pitched in once the doors were opened and helped the people in the wheelchairs, even when it wasn't his job. He was kind and treated the people around him with respect. 

So as I boarded, A1 was on the aisle (on the left, required) and Mr. Nice Pilot was two more rows back on the aisle. Yeah, I happily took two rows further back to sit with him. The contrast was just startling.

When we got to OKC, we were on the ground about a half an hour, and I'd never taken a flight where I didn't have to deplane. They loaded the OKCers going to Houston on with the 22 of us who were already on board (and all took the opportunity to move forward while we could). Plus side, with my free drink coupons that meant two drink services (Bloody Marys!) and two rounds of peanuts. As I was mulling over my drink, I remembered a book I read sometime in middle school in which a mother, or aunt, or grandmother of the main character is always insistent on having a pitcher of bloody marys nearby. As a 12 year old, I had no idea what that was, except that it involved tomato juice and celery, but it clearly stuck with me. I can't remember the name of the book or a single other thing about that story, except that pitcher of "Bloody Marys." 

I was listening to This American Life podcast called "Middle School" which made note of the fact that things you learn right around 6th grade, 11 - 12, is in this beautiful brain sweet spot where things are just clicking and stuff that's picked up in that period is retained in ways nothing else, at any other time, quite is. Interesting.

full moon didn't quite stay still ;)
hello, Hobby!


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