The Flight

[Photo Credit: Gerrie van der Walt]

I’m not sure if my knee had a target painted on it, or if the disgruntled flight attendants had decided among themselves for a series of deliberate attacks on my person. Whatever the reason, this was now the third time the drinks trolley had been hurled down the aisle at full speed into my knee with an eye-watering, bone-crunching collision.

To maximise profits, airlines have decided to squeeze as many people as possible onto each flight (and then even more than possible) so that they can rake in the money. The result is that taller, large-framed people such as myself, are compressed mercilessly into narrow rows with leg space much shorter than their legs.

Upon finding my aisle seat (I gave up the dream of window seats long ago), I’m usually faced with the choice between doing a seated version of the splits, or angling both knees in a kind of ‘side-saddle’ with one knee protruding slightly into the aisle. Due to a distinct lack of flexibility (I once tore a tendon reaching for a glass on a coffee table), and also the intrusive nature of doing the splits upon other passengers, I usually choose the ‘side-saddle’ method of airline seat-survival with a knee protruding into the aisle. Whatever I choose, I usually arrive with minor ligament damage.

So here I was yet again, having my poor knee smashed into with every passing trolley. “Could this get any worse?” I found myself thinking.

On this occasion, I was on a flight to a weekend conference that had many heavy-hitters from large organisations who also held their own conferences. It was the kind of conference that I knew would lead to me being invited to feature at many other conferences if I could demonstrate my professionalism and talent. Surely, I could do that!

Apart from my bruised knee, I was thinking of the various music logistics I’d be engaged with, including multiple music presentations and also a workshop or two. A shadow moved across my knee and I couldn’t stop myself flinching in anticipation of another leg strike.

“Tea or Coffee, Sir?” asked the flight attendant.

“A coffee would be nice. Thank you.” I responded.

My fold-down table had two parts. You could fold the whole table down or a smaller section for precisely this occasion. The flight attendant had me take my cup and I carefully placed it on the table. I went back to my thoughts.

The diminutive person in front of me chose that moment to dramatically recline their seat. I didn’t realise that this feat would be possible, as I was already compressed into the area like a circus performer. In fact, the reclining of their seat met an immediate and sudden stop as my femur formed a wedge against their seat-back.

Unfortunately, the piping-hot coffee was not so restrained, and catapulted into the air, emptying the whole of its boiling contents into my lap.

As I let out a blood-curdling scream, the passenger ahead of me took advantage of the situation to attempt further reclining.

Nerve endings were pouring forth emergency messages to my brain as the hot coffee spread further across my trousers.

I heard the sound of running feet and before long, the flight attendant appeared, looked at the steam ascending from my scalded lap and ran off again. I wasn’t sure if it was a shock reaction or if there was a doctor she knew was travelling who could render medical assistance.

Time seemed to stand still.

Soon the sound of running feet again filled my ears. There stood the flight attendant. Instead of a doctor, she had run off to grab a full can of something which she then proceeded to empty into my lap.

“It’s soda water,” she informed me as she made sure that none was left in the can. “It will stop the coffee staining.”

Now, I’m not up on the latest first aid techniques being taught in airline school. However, I’m sure that ‘Stain Prevention’ is a little lower down the medical scale than ‘Preventing The Family Jewels From Burning’.

I found myself bewildered by how to respond. Not only was I wet from the burning coffee that had poured into my lap, now I also had half a litre of soda water poured into the same lap in order to prevent any stains, of which I could see plenty.

“My seat… is wet.” I finally gasped.

“Aww… let me find you a new seat, Honey,” she responded, gracefully moving down the aisle.

She soon returned and led me to the second row of seats from the very back of the airplane. Squelchingly, I sat down. I found out that on his particular airline, the rows of seats became closer together the further back you went in the airplane. This seat had even less room than the previous one.

I glanced down at the sodden mess that was my lap. The soda water had now spread the coffee further across my trousers. I rued the day I chose to wear my beige ensemble. It made the coffee stain look even worse than it was.

As I sat there, I heard snippets of laughter from somewhere. I later realised that this must have been coming from the crew section. I also thought about the reclining fiend who had caused all this and who must now be dozing comfortably without any obstructions.

We finally landed. My lap was still wet through with a large brown stain both front and back. As I disembarked, I tried to hold my carry-on bag where it would protect my modesty. The laughter and pointed fingers told me that I hadn’t been successful.

The worst part was others who had caught this plane to attend the conference for which I was the headline musician. They laughed the longest. And the loudest.