It was an hour into the flight that said family overheard the flight attendants (who decided it was a swell idea to gather in the rear of the plane) in a scramble talking about things that were happening with the plane. That’s right—the plane itself. We had lost an engine over the Atlantic. We hoped to make the flight back to Bermuda on the one engine.
We did. But it wasn’t fun. It was actually traumatic. I had a problem flying after that. Even short distances. We went on a class trip to Italy and Lindy Lew decided to chaperone. She also decided to take something for her awful anxiety while I was young and thought, ‘hey! Benadryl makes me sleep! I’ll do that.’
And I did. Any flight longer than two hours, you better believe I was knocked unconscious with that wonder drug.
Enter the future and heading to IMAZ.
If you take the subway to the Air Tran to JFK, it’s not so bad. Sure, it takes awhile. But for $7.50 you really can’t get that great of a deal in the Tri-State area. So I did just that.
Upon going through the security guards, who rapidly became my new best friends, I found myself walking through this amazing JetBlue terminal at JFK, something I’ve never seen before. It seriously belongs in some kind of casino. Swanky restaurants, nice shops, clean floors… It’s a traveler’s dream.
I decided to sit down at Aero Bar something or other for a glass of wine—checking work email and the like. It wasn’t before long that a girl about my age sat next to me at said bar, and was in quite a predicament.
“Can I get a glass of Pinot Noir and a water?”
She picks up her phone.
“…No answer! Jesus, you think that when they know you have anxiety, they’d pick up the phone!”
I turned my head to the young lady.
“I’m sorry. You have anxiety?”
“Yeah. I took some painkillers. And Xanax! Should probably eat something soon!”
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”
I then thought it would be a good idea to humor this poor girl, for I had anxiety as well, but I was calm enough to handle the situation. Afterall, it’s been 16 years since that happened.
Side note: I now realize how old I am.
“Well, I’m sorry. Where are you flying to?”
Insert expletive here. Homegirl is on my flight. And she has anxiety. And she’s now starting to talk about how people will have to pump her stomach because she hasn’t eaten anything. Seriously. What kind of luck is this? I was going to have to sit on a plane with homegirl who’s on eleventy billion drugs? I hope the flight goes well.
The flight WILL go well. (Please.)
All I can say is… Thank God my Mom wasn’t apart of this.
See y’all in AZ.