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If I had to pick one word to describe me, it would be Humanitarian.
In high school people were inspired by my compassion. My friends dreamed of marrying Johnny Depp; I dreamed of shocking him back to life with a defibrillator.
It was only recently however, while on a flight to San Francisco, that my dreams of becoming a real-life hero finally came to fruition.
When I checked in for my flight, the attractive agent asked if I wanted to sit in the exit row. “We usually charge extra,” he said. “But I’ll waive the fee this time.”
“Is that because you want me to have sex with you?” I asked, glowing my flawless skin at him. Thanks to Cosmo, I am really good at reading between the lines.
He said it was because there were seats available and most people preferred the extra leg room. But I could tell by the way he refused to make eye-contact with me that he was hiding his true feelings.
Shortly after boarding, the crew started their in-flight safety demonstration. Because I don’t like listening to boring things, I grabbed my iPhone to check for messages.
“Excuse me miss.” A flight attendant was standing beside me, giving me the evil eye. “You really need to listen to the safety announcement.” I told her that I had faith in the pilots’ abilities, and if she didn’t then maybe she should look into another line of work.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “You are in the exit row. That means you are responsible for opening the hatch if anything happens.” She handed me a safety brochure to read.
I skimmed through it. Immediately my eyes zoomed in on the following:
You might suffer bodily harm as a result of performing one or more of the emergency exit functions listed on this safety card.
I explained to her that although I would love to do her job for her, unfortunately my doctor had banned me from participating in any bodily-harm causing activities.
“I…have…Type…Two…Asthma,” I said, coughing between words. “It’s malignant.”
“Well, if you don’t agree to the terms, I am going to have to move you to another seat.”
“But you can’t!” I said. “This seat was given to me by the ticket agent as a token of his wanting to have sex with me.”
I said that one of the symptoms of my disease was impulsivity, and if she made me move I might accidentally announce over the speaker that she was racist against Type-Two Malignant Asthmatics. Then I pretended to fall asleep.
Shortly after the plane left the tarmac, I noticed a young boy sitting across the aisle. He was covering his ears with his hands. “My ears!” he screamed. “Mommy my ears are hurting!”
His mother handed him a stick of chewing gum. He chucked it to the floor.
“YOU KNOW I DON’T LIKE THAT KIND!!! I ONLY LIKE THE GUM THAT MAKES BUBBLES!! I HATE YOU!!! I WANT TO LIVE WITH DADDY!!”
She told him to calm down. He responded by spitting on her fake Lululemon pants. (Not to brag, but I knew they were fake because I shop at Lululemon a lot.) She grabbed him by the arm and started scolding him.
Because I watch a lot of hidden camera shows, I knew I was being set-up. It was obvious that John Quinones was hiding somewhere on the plane, filming me to see how I would react in the face of everyday dilemmas that test my character and values.
.
Since there was no way in hell I was going to end up on television as “asshole number 3 who sits by and does nothing,” I grabbed the kids’ other arm and pulled it toward me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The mother yanked his arm even harder.
I stood up to get more traction. She stood up too. Then she lost her grip. I yanked the hysterical kid away and sat him down on my lap.
“Don’t worry, ” I said, gently placing the oxygen mask over his mouth. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m your mommy now.”
I told Pussin (I named him after my old cat) that he was coming to live with me and that he would never have to feel ashamed again because his new mommy was a MILF who only wore real Lululemon pants.
.
.
Just as I was about to give Pussin a snack, three burly men in business suits walked up.
“What seems to be the problem?” In a sorry attempt to get him back, Pussin’s old mother told the first-class passengers that I was kidnapping her son.
“Look!” she said. “Now she’s trying to breast-feed him!!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. As I rebuttoned my shirt, I explained to the men that everything was under control and it would all make sense when John Quinones finally came out and revealed his hidden camera.
I found out later that there was no hidden camera. Apparently the whole bizarre scenario had been legit. Truth be told, I was relieved. Deep down I knew that I wasn’t ready to be a mother. Also, because I live in an adults only building, Pussin would have had to sleep in the shed.
Still, even though my heroic acts weren’t televised, that doesn’t make me any less of a hero. In fact, if anything, it makes me an even bigger hero, because I’m not trying to exploit my heroism to further my career.
*FYI- Even thought the airlines haven’t sent me a letter of recognition or a free flight voucher, I know they appreciated my efforts.
Whoa. I knew last time I flew I was charged extra for peanuts, for a soda, for ice, for a glass, for a window seat, for a pillow and for earplugs, but now they charge for two inches more leg room also, even when you are there at the ready to save lives (and/or feed the noisy-hungry) ??!! The noive…
It’s only a matter of time before the airlines start charging for acknowledgement in general.
On a completely unrelated note, I wonder if they’re hiring?
ps. Just so you know, I’m stealing “noive” from you. I always spelled it “noy-yeive” and nobody ever understood what I was saying.
What a whinny bitch of an ex-mom! She CLEARLY had NO right to get other people involved. She didn’t want him, I mean for the love of Christmas, all he wanted was the good bubble blowing gum!
She is clearly not fit! And you should get a free flight and a new child friendly apartment from the airline. You need to sue! I know Legal Aid can help you!
Woah, wait a minute. I think the child-friendly apartment might be pushing it.
I’ll start with “child-ambivalent” and go from there.
Shit… and my kids were all packed and everything! I told them they were going to be moved to Auntie B’s Wonder Emporium (aka orphanage)… How many children can your “child-ambivalent” apartment hold exactly???
Depends. Can they cook? Can they clean? Do they come with instructions?
For the extra work required, the airlines should PAY you to sit in the exit row. Then you could take your earnings and spend them on a new pair of groove pants at Lululemon, you unsung hero, you!
I know, right?
Sometimes I feel like the Airlines/Companies/Universe don’t really get my whole “value add” potential.
Better the kid say that then say “I don’t like that gum. I like the kind that daddy’s naked friend gives me to keep quiet about her visits”
Is it sad that because of my wife, I know what the Lululemon logo looks like
I usually just give them a shot of Bailey’s.
That way I don’t have to worry about the evidence getting stuck in the carpet.
They probably should have given you a medal. Dealing with a screaming child on a plane without a handy supply of vodka is beyond the call of duty.
Yes! And the medal should have been made out of vodka.
And in the shape of a three liter bottle.
The maternal instinct is a powerful thing. I once saw a female gorilla trying to suckle a baby crocodile. Have you ever tried to kidnap a baby raccoon? Their mothers are too stupid to call for help and give up when you hit them with baseball bat.
I made out with a hairy drunk guy wearing nothing but a strategically placed raccoon hat, once. On his crocodile skin rug.
So yeah, I think I can relate.
Is there a video?
Of course! Unfortunately I was only ten years old at the time so it’s in VHS.
You are awesome.
My wife was once on a plane with an extremely drunk, middle-aged woman who would not stop bugging the passengees around her. She kept waking them up to talk to them. At some point a flight attendant arrived. She handed the woman two pills.
“Here are your sleeping pills, ma’am.”
“But I didn’t order any sleeping pills.”
“No. But you’re taking them. Now.”
Also I have found the perfect formula for sleeping through a transatlantic flight:
3 beers
1 scotch
1 bloody mary
all to be taken at the same time. Then two more doses.
I slept like a baby.
HA! I can’t believe the flight attendant did that. For some reason I always had it in my head that they weren’t even allowed to give out Tylenol. I’m surprised the airlines didn’t charge her for it.
I can’t drink on the plane, I get airsick. Also, I’m a slutty drunk and I always get stuck sitting next to some ninety year old man.
Just one heavy pet in the wrong direction, and another one bites the dust.
Oh my.
I thought this post was freaking hilarious!! You funny, funny, person.
I used to fly twice every month (yep, I’m lucky that way) and I’ve pretty much experienced every crappy traveling experience ever. Oh, HOW I wish I had bribed the counter guys for better seating arrangements with sexual favors.
Well, the good news is you have many sexual-favor bribing years ahead of you, Lemons.
If you use all of your favors up now, by the time you hit 30 you’ll have to change your name to raisin.
(Er, I have no idea what that means. But still, trust me.)
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
HA! (X infinity)
You are the best! Love your stories!!!!
Thanks Anonymous! And I love your comments!!
Dammit. I could have had my way with sooo many ticket agents if I had only known how to read between the lines of their banter.
Don’t worry. A lot of women aren’t able to pick up what these agents are putting down. I only know because I read Cosmo.
Also, my mom was a Flight Attendant/Private Dancer.
I really admire your humanitarian skills Becky. I wish I was that gifted. If that little shit (Pussin #2, not #1, may god rest his precious soul) spit on me I would have popped the emergency hatch (bodily harm or no!) and tossed his sticky little ass out the door. Fuck that oxygen, he can get a lung-full on the way down!
I mean… Congrats Becky, I’m sure that humanitarian award just got lost in the mail.
Thank-you, Cake. But to be completely honest, I did have an ulterior motive.
I’ve always wanted to be a MILF.
ps. Pussin #1 wanted me to tell you that he’s looking down at you right now. And he’s purring.
This story confirms what I have thought all along. That we are kindred spirits. (I think, though I don’t knoiw what “kindred” means.) I do know that I would have breastfed my new found Pussin in front of John Quinones also.
And that’s exactly why the country needs you as President.
You’re like the “People’s Areola.”
OMG. you are my idol.
for many, many reasons.
you need to make a coffee table book. asap. and my post about neil diamond, but whatevers.
Um, this was freaking hilarious. and dude, i’m always wondering if i’m on WWYD. which, you’d think would encourage me to get a better attitude, but that ship has sailed.
True story, it was when you tweeted about WWYD that I knew you were my soul mate.
The fact that we both hate mayo, Neil and Brad Womack’s Creepy Creeperson voice is just the gravy.
Was it Northwest airlines? I bet it was. They are so precious about breast feeding near the emergency exits.:(
They do the breast-feeding for you?
That’s what I call a full service airline!
Denny has occasionally had to preform an emergency exit function.
You’re also the reason the airlines imposed an age limit on breast-feeding.
(In a good way.)
You’re so funny! And I think the fact that I shop at Lululemon A LOT too instantly makes us BFFs…I know, don’t you hate people who speak in abbrevs. Me too. Anyway, this post has validated me. I always knew that when the guy at the grocery store offers to take my groceries out to my car, that he’s really just asking for sex.
PS: Where have you been all my life!
OMG we are totally BFFs! Only BFFs can say things like OMG and WTF and LOL to each other even though they hate people who speak in abbrevs. It’s like, the law of BFFs or something.
Ok, so because we are BFFs, I’ll let you in on a secret:
Groceries = penis
Out to my car = not really your car
If those Lululemons were Louboutins instead, two well aimed shots of a 5″ stilletto directed at the kid’s eardrums would have surely put him out of his misery. A tip for you bschooled: early, EARLY flights have fewer screaming babies/toddlers/screechers. :-)
Screaming babies are the reason I changed my mind about becoming a flight attendant. Even as a baby I hated screaming babies.
Stoopid funny, chica. If I weren’t so damned depressed right now I’d be laughing my ass off.
I hope you feel better, singlegirlie. Anyone who has a name like yours should never be depressed.;)
I’ve just spent the last several minutes googling up MILF to find out what it really stands for–your posts have a way of doing that! I’ve seen it many times, in “Leg Show” (the only American men’s mag to which I subscribe, because it is the only American men’s mag in which the women are neither emaciated nor obese)–but I get different results. I’ve always guessed it stood for mother-in-law-f*ck, but there’s no site that supports that idea. The “Urban Dictionary”, though it doesn’t give an exact “translation”, does give the most sensible definition: any desirable woman who happens to be a mother.
So I would say telling the kid you’re an MILF is TMI, for his age–but if an adult can’t find the definitive definition, I’m sure a child can’t!
Holy shit, we really are doppelgangers or victims of fate or something. I’m not even kidding. The same thing happened to me two days ago when I was flying back from Pgh to Tampa. This little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, started acting out and this scumbagy, obese man who was with her mother grabbed her and physically restrained her while the mother sat there yelling at them both. This went on for forty five minutes and the girl was screaming, “Please let me gooooo.” At first I was afraid the girl was autistic and had to be held like that but I finally did ask security to intervene (just in case I was on that show) and they talked to the family and left. Ten minutes later security came back and took the mother and girl away and, presumably, sold them into white slavery.
The lesson here is that if you are unsure of a situation, you should always first find out how much you could get by selling the people on the black market. Because who wants to get screwed out of all that money? (I suck at learning, so I could be wrong about the lesson.)
No, Scott, you’re an excellent learner! In fact if I was your teacher I would give you an A+ for “All Things Learning Related”. (It’s a class I’ve been teaching for years. Self-study, mostly.)
That poor girl. I mean, could you imagine? Being grabbed by an obese man while your mother sits there lecturing you?
It’s like my two worst nightmares rolled into one.
Do parent still breast feed their children? :D
Only the mothers, I think.
Holy shit, this is funny. Excellent story, chica!
Thanks RAD. Now that I no longer have to worry about my child’s non-existent college fund, I can finally laugh about it.
Just think, if oxygen masks had dropped in front of you and Pussin, you could’ve put yours on first and then helped him. (The oxygen bags might not inflate, but air will be flowing.)
I was totally thinking the same thing! That would have made me even MORE of a hero.
I’d want a window seat and a guy not adverse to me vomiting on him sitting next to me when I start freaking out.
SO, I write a blog called “In the Exit Row” – I’m not sure how I have never seen this before! I fly twice a week and so far my best airline story is earning 10,000 miles after complaining that the person next to me required a seat belt extender…