Walk Down The Aisle

There was a wedding announcement in the NYT last Sunday about a couple who met on a Southwest flight. As you probably know, Southwest has the Open Seating system—a system that causes Jammahs much stress on the rare occasion that I fly this airline. Boarding is based on group number; a group number is based on when you check in on-line. Most passengers are at the gate hours in advance. Ok, I am at the gate hours in advance, but I have long legs and get very cranky when I’m forced to sit in non-bulk. The PTSD of having to fly in a Southwest Regular Row from PHX to BWI is setting in, so let me get back to the original topic. This couple met on the Southwest flight after the guy sat down next to the girl. They started talking and exchanged numbers and, last week, got married at the airport. (Kidding on that last part)

This got me thinking about my own experiences with the Delta Shuttle Open Seating system. I flew this airline all the time—about 48-50 flights within seven months. There are many a cute boys on this flight—mostly lawyers, staffers from the Hill, frat boys from Georgetown and the many consultants from the large project team of ABC Consulting’s competitor—but in all those times that I was on the plane, I gave my number to two people on the Delta Shuttle. I talked a lot to the Talkers, but gave my number out twice. Not sure what to make of those odds… flight half-empty or flight half-full? Allow me to explain the circumstances and then you, faithful reader of MLWTCO, came make a decision:

Boy #1: Works The Open Seating System

I was sitting in my window seat, reading my pre-take-off US Weekly, watching all the amateurs trying to fit their carry-on into the overhead (one of the more entertaining parts of flying), when I made eye-contact with a very cute boy coming down the aisle. He stopped at my row, sat in the aisle seat, put his laptop underneath the seat in front of him and asked if his jacket could share the middle seat with my jacket. Corny, but cute. He was a stage-four Talker. But, I didn’t mind. We swapped stories about Miami bars and hotels, NYC sushi restaurants and, of course, traveling—he was a Road Warrior just like Jammahs. He clearly is the type of guy who takes advantage of the Open Seating system—the type of guy who deliberately sits next to a single girl who is trapped in a confined space and forced to talk to him. Well, it worked. I gave him my number. We went out to dinner in NY (on a Thursday, of course). Turns out he was separated and had two little kids under the age of 6. He wasn’t exactly up front about that when we met during the flight. That’s ok though--I didn’t share that I enter essay contests and have a blog about traveling.

I don’t regret giving him my number or going to dinner with him or perhaps maybe even smooching him on the street corner outside of the restaurant right before we hailed a cab. As a result of this experience, my friend E coined one of our favorite expressions, “If shit goes down, be ready to bolt.” Not sure what’s up in your life, but that phrase can be applied in so many different ways.

Boy #2: Works The Office

Thursday happy hour with Road Friends turned into many happy hours. A little too happy. A definite HH—not an hh. At 11pm, I realized that I missed the last shuttle back to LGA by over three hours. I checked back into the Hilton. I flew home on one of the first flights out that I could physically make—I believe it was the Friday 11:30am. I walked down the aisle and the male Flight Attendant asks me what’s shakin’ out by the boarding area. Usually, I would answer that in one to two syllables (fine or ok), but decided to launch into an entire story instead. I started talking about the standby list, the crowd of people, how it was going to rain later in the day…I went on and on. The dirty martinis were still in my system. The Flight Attendant tells me to sit next to his jump seat. I oblige. I’m so tired and hungover, I would have sat in an overhead bin if it meant that I could shut my eyes and have it be dark.

Flight Attendant talks to me the entire way to LGA. The only sweet relief I had was when he was doing the safety announcements, serving the drinks and picking up the garbage. At first I didn’t mind, because I got to ask him if he’s scared of turbulence and if he gets paid overtime on flight delays. I’ve always been curious about these things. But, he was a persistent talker. I think about how Travel Day Friday is all wrong and that I should be partaking in Work From Home Friday instead. On final approach, he starts to ask me if I have roommates, if I’m married, what I do for a living—a lot of personal questions. He then asks me for my phone number. I’m really reluctant to give it to him. I mean, I had no intention of going out with him—he was friendly and sort of cute in his Todd Oldham designs for Delta uniform, but, the thing is, the Delta Shuttle is like my office and it is definitely his office. And, I have a semi-strict policy not to date people at the workplace. I gave him my card. He called and left, to date, one of the funniest voicemails ever. It started out saying, “Hello Jammahs, this is Joe. We met on the aircraft.” AIRCRAFT?? There’s something so funny about that. Maybe because it’s just so technical. And, so random. And, so telling of My Life With Two Carry-ons.

So, those are my Delta Shuttle stories. I think that it goes to show that at 30,000 feet you never know what will happen—and that can be a good thing. You may even realize that with My Life With Two Carry-Ons, the flight is always half-full. Or, actually, in the case of traveling, the flight is always half-empty.