Writing Assignment #4

The Worse Plane Ride Ever

I love flying on planes. I have never been afraid of plane rides due to a fear of heights, small spaces, strange people, airlines’ incompetent tendencies, or any other reasons why people dislike flying. So when I was at the airport on the first day of the new year of 2007, awaiting my flight that would whisk me away to Rome for the next three months, I felt no anxiety whatsoever. I had always had the best experiences on all of my previous flights. I had been especially fortunate to have such enjoyable flights when I previously traveled with British Airways; which is why I made sure to book my ticket with them – so I could assure myself the best possible conditions for such a long flight across the Atlantic Ocean.

At 6:15 pm I boarded, what would end up being, the fatefully horrible flight (my good luck with flights was bound to come to an end at some time, right?). I quickly found my seat, anxious to commence yet another wonderful trip far up in the sky. As I sat down I noticed that I was seated next to a family of three – a mother, young daughter, and even younger son, but my attention was diverted from the ones who would be sitting next to me for the next ten hours when I noticed that my television screen was not working. Everyone else around me had television screens that were flashing images of green and blue and white, while mine hopelessly sat there with a lame black screen. I flagged down the next flight attendant that I saw and proceeded to tell her of my problem. She informed me that the flight was completely full which didn’t allow her to give me another seat and that all the consolation she had to offer me was a comment card. Upon hearing the situation the mother I had previously noticed sitting three seats down from me offered to switch me seats. Not able to speak much English she just gestured as if to say “it doesn’t matter” when I showed my expression of surprise and questioned the certainty of her offer. She conveyed to me that all she wanted to do was sleep and she was fine so long as her two children had a functioning television to keep them occupied on the long flight. So we made the switch and I had a working television for the flight I had so looked forward to.

From then on the flight seemed to continue on just fine. I was very excited to watch a couple of movies I hadn’t seen before and sleep a couple hours before transferring planes in London. Half way through my first movie I began to become very drowsy. It was beginning to be late at night and I had stayed up very late the night before packing and bringing in the new year. So I started to drift off to sleep, but just then the young boy, who had been so peacefully sleeping beforehand, woke up and was immediately upset about something. His mother couldn’t seem to do anything that would comfort and, more importantly, silence the child. He cried for what seemed like forever. Finally, I offered him a lollipop I had tucked away in my carry on. This worked as a solution, but only temporarily. He eventually went back to sleep after comforting his pallet with my delicious red lollipop and visions of Shrek on his t.v. screen. But without fail he would wake up ever hour it seemed, thus waking me up with his fits of wailing. The even greater problem at hand with my seating situation is that ever time he was asleep and I myself was attempting to fall into a slumber, his sister who was sitting next to me would manage to elbow me in the side as soon as I had just dozed off into an inevitably impossible sleep. This is the pattern I experienced for the whole duration of my not so wonderful flight on British Airways. And the child’s crying only managed to get worse when we were landing.

I was so happy to get off of my flight. I felt like I had been released from a jail cell of airline torture. I couldn’t believe how badly my flight ended up being. Now, instead of fearing the flying portion of my flights I knew that I was going to forever fear little children, with their incessant crying, screaming, intrusive motion, and corruption of everything I “enjoyed” about flying. Trying to shake off my horrible flight I focused on getting my luggage and moving onward to the Eternal City with a bunch of my new friends. We all waited and one by one, everyone’s bags arrived on the baggage claim track, except mine. After watching everyone, aside from me, reclaim their suitcases my program director told me is was time for me to face the fact that my luggage had been delayed or lost. I went and waited to speak with the man in charge of the lost/delayed baggage, who only spoke Italian. Luckily, my program director’s friend who was traveling us was able to speak for me and figure out what the problem was. The airline had somehow not managed to get my baggage on the right flight. This was good because it meant that my luggage wasn’t lost, but it did most unfortunately mean that I would be without my things until late the next day.

After I had my delayed baggage claim and delivery for the next day all arranged, I set off with my fellow program attendees on the bus that we had arranged to take us into Rome. The drive into Rome was an adventure in itself, with all the dazzling sites of the city at night. The visions of the Tiber River or the Piazza Venezia, illuminated at night, were just enough to wet my thirst for the Rome I had dreamt about for the past several months. We got to our hotel, ate some dinner, and then immediately got some much needed rest. The thought about sleeping in the same clothes I had been traveling in for the past eighteen hours was most unpleasant, but I was so tired that nothing was going to ruin this opportunity to finally sleep.

The next day, we set off for the Rome Center well rested and exhilarated. We made it to our apartments in the Campo de Fiori, after putting down a deposit for our keys and as well as our apartment. I definitely felt saddened to be going to my new apartment without my things, but I tried to take comfort in the assurance that my bags were supposed to show up around 1:30 in the afternoon. Sure enough they were at the Rome Center when I went back that afternoon. I immediately inspected my bags hoping that everything would be just as I had left it when I checked them in Seattle. Unfortunately, I discovered that a perfume of mine had been stolen from my belongings, but I was glad to get my things back as opposed to them being lost, that I was able to move on from this loss and enjoy what had been safely returned to me.