I wasn’t going to blog about my airplane experience on this last trip, but it has been eating at me since I bolted off the plane. We already know that: a. I HATE flying b. I am terrified of getting stuck sitting next to someone unpleasant, and c. I HATE flying. My plane ride going TO Connecticut was pretty uneventful (thank God). I had stupidly assumed the way back to Texas would be the same, and my bad luck of flying had disappeared (to remind you, my last flight I asked a woman when her baby was due...only to find out she wasn’t pregnant). So, here I am with my Chai Tea from Dunkin’ Donuts, sitting on an outside seat, not making eye contact with anyone. (Remember, making eye contact might be mistaken for inviting someone to sit next to you). So I am looking down, Chai in one hand, Kindle in the other, and I hear a woman say, “Excuse me, can my husband and I sit there?” I get up, without responding and let the old man in, with his wife behind him. I notice they have a couple large bags, and wonder how they are going to get them to fit under the seat (remember, rule FOLLOWER here). I decide I will give them time (three minutes tops) to do the right thing (put their shit in the overhead), before I start with my flight attendant speech about how all baggage needs to be secured in the overhead bin, or tucked tightly under the seat in front of them (I’m thinking my true calling is an air police aka flight attendant). I sit calmly and look at my watch, noting the time because I want to be fair and give them the benefit of doubt. Then magically, they fit all the crap under the seats in front of them. I am secretly a little sad, because I like to get people in trouble (back to my “teachers pet” mentality). I go back to reading my Kindle while the plane loads with screaming babies, grandparents, and young couples dressed as if they just rolled out of bed.
Fifteen minutes later, we are safely up in the air, floating above the clouds. I pull out my laptop after we get the “okay,” and am starting to write a blog. Then I hear this high pitch bark! Initially it scared me, because it was so close to me. It was unexpected, and I tend to be a little jumpy when I am focused on something other than my surroundings. About three and a half barks in, I realize the obnoxious sound is coming from the area of my feet. I look at the couple, and they are both reading a magazine. You can only imagine the disgust on my face, when I realize not only am I going to have to listen to this, but the owners aren’t even phased by it.
*Side note: This reminds me of a time I was at my sisters house. Little man was probably five, and he was sitting at one of those kiddy tables with his cousins, my niece, also five at the time, and my twin nephews who were three. I am standing at the kitchen counter with my sister and mom, and my sister lets out this loud piercing scream at one of the kids. Little Man jumps in the air about a mile, and turns to my niece and says, “Didn’t that scare you?” My niece responds, “Did what scare me?”
This situation reminds me of that. These people have learned to tune out barking, like my niece and nephews tune out their mom’s scream. I realize if that isn’t the case then these bastards have simply turned their hearing aides down so they can’t hear anything, including the rats anxious scream for help (again, under five pounds is a rat, not a dog). Unfortunately, I am not able to do the same thing. I have a few choices here: 1. do my very best at ignoring it 2. move 3. Ask the guy in front of me, if I can borrow his sound proof head phones or 4. kick the carrier until the rat stops barking...and moving. I decide to go the with number one. I close my eyes and say a prayer, thanking God for everything he has done for me, and promising him I would go to church every Sunday for the rest of the year if he shuts the rat up. I slowly open my eyes and try to focus on my computer screen. Then something miraculous happens. It stops. The rat stops barking. There is movement coming from the carrier, but it is no longer barking. I secretly curse myself wishing I had made a much simpler promise to God...like once a month visit to a church, instead of once a week. Then it begins again. I quickly back track in my head: Okay, Okay, once a week it is, God. Then it stops again. I don’t test the waters, and accept the once a week church agreement.
I go about my typing. About an hour later, Grandma decides she wants to check to make sure the rat is still breathing. She bends over, and moves the carrier to her lap. I had to refrain from screaming, “Don’t wake the beast!!” She is sitting beside me, so now the rat is not only in her lap, but in my face. Those of you that know me, know how allergic to dogs I am. Of course, because this is just how lucky I am, she unzips the carrier and pulls the tiny rat out. I sigh a relief because I think it has a total of two hairs on it. At least it won’t kick up my allergies. That ugly, little hairless rat starts wiggling like crazy in her hands. She is laughing and holding it up to her face. Why would any person put a rodent against their skin? Again, I want to remind you, I love dogs (dogs are big), but I am extremely allergic to them. So if I am where I have access to a sink, I will venture to petting them. If I don’t have access to immediate soap and water, I avoid them. My arms will break out in hives if I pet them without immediately following it up with boiling soap and water. I immediately close my laptop and lean over to the isle as far away as possible from the rat and woman. I am also facing the isle because I don’t want to inhale all the dander that is flying through the air from the wiggly creature. About four or five minutes and I can feel my throat start to itch. Now I don’t know what I am going to do. Two minutes later, the sneezing starts. Excellent, just when I thought I was going to have an uneventful trip home.
Exactly 13 sneezes later, I turned to the woman and asked if she could please put her dog up. She looked at my oddly, and I said, “I am terribly allergic.” Without saying a word, she bent down for the carrier, and put the dog in it. After situating the dog on the floor under the seat in front of her, the barking started up again. Deal’s off, God, I said to myself. I knew at this point, I was going to need to find another seat. I stood up, and looked behind me. I must have looked completely pathetic, because the flight attendant approached me and said, “Can I help you?” I explained to her that I was allergic to dogs and that I needed a new seat. She told me it was a full flight, but she would do what she could. She walked to the back of the plane and found me another seat. I thanked the person that switched with me, and walked down the isle to my new seat in the back of the plane.
Here is the deal. If a person has a peanut allergy they don’t serve peanuts to anyone on the plane. What if a person has a dog allergy? Tough luck? How is that fair? Are people really allowed to take their pets out of the carrier? Think of how unsanitary that is! I am so happy I didn’t request a drink. I am sounding like a dog hater here, and I want to make it clear that I am not. I love dogs, I do, however, hate rodents. Anything under five pounds is a rodent. Luckily, an hour later, my airway had cleared back up, and I was happily back to my blogging. Just a thought though (directed to Southwest Airlines), if you are going to hide the peanuts, I suggest you hide the rats too. Below, a picture of the hairless rat...
Okay, Okay. It COULD have been the hairless rat though!! Below is the REAL hairless rat.
Don't let this face fool you. This rat...I mean dog, was a tiny terrorist.
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