The Perils of the Plane

I've been traveling so much lately, you'd think I'd have this plane thing all figured out. Well . . . not so.

Yesterday I got up at five a.m. and went to the Ft. Wayne airport to fly home from Taylor University. The flight from Ft. Wayne to Detroit was fairly uneventful (either that, or I was too sleepy to notice otherwise), but the flight from Detroit to Tampa involved a bit of adventure.

You see, I had packed a small suitcase for this short trip, so I only had to keep track of three things: my briefcase, my coat, and my suitcase. But I bought a bottle of Diet Coke at the airport, and had to juggle it as well.

I was in boarding group four, which means I was among the last on the plane, and boarding seemed to be taking a loooong time. I began to worry that they wouldn't have room for my suitcase in the overhead bin. So when I got aboard and found my seat, I dropped all the stuff in my arms into the seat while I struggled to get the suitcase into the bin. Seems that these bins were shorter than most, so I had to turn the suitcase sideways. But still, there was room.

Aware that there were still people waiting behind me, and also aware that the clock was ticking and the stewardess wanted people to hurry up and sit down, I stuffed my coat into the overhead bin and stepped into my row, then dropped into my seat. I felt stuff beneath me--but no wonder, since I'd dropped my scarf and my briefcase . . . and my partially empty bottle of Diet Coke.

When I felt wetness on my backside, I realized that the worst had happened--the bottle had sprung a leak. I sprang out of the seat and started waving to catch the flight attendant's attention. I asked for paper towels, so she snaked her way up to the front of the plane, then had all the waiting people pass the paper towels back to me--all way way back to row 14.

I wiped up the seat as best I could, but I had the impression that most of the missing liquid had been absorbed by the seat of my jeans. So I sat on the damp paper towels and my scarf, hoping that the paper and fabric would sort of wick the moisture away from me, because I had this horrible feeling that I'd be walking through Tampa airport looking like I'd had lost all control of my bladder.

While I was riding on the plane, reading my book and trying to act as if nothing had happened (but feeling very cold and wet, to tell you the truth), the gal in the middle seat turned off her DVD player, pulled up her purse, and put on lipstick--all while we were miles from our destination. I knew, I KNEW, what she was going to do, and I was silently telegraphing: Please don't ask me to get up, don't ask me to get up, don't do it, don't do it--and sure enough, she looked at me and said, "May I get out?"

"Why certainly!" I smiled and stepped into the aisle, proudly flashing my wet bum fore and aft, then sat down and had to get up AGAIN about five minutes later.

By the time I reached Tampa, I think I was nearly dry. Definitely by the time I got home, because the Florida sun will do that in a hurry.

But I just kept reminding myself that the Lord has his way of keeping us humble, doesn't he?

Yes, he does.

~~Angie