FLY THE FRIENDLYSKIES: TOO MUCH TOGETHERNESS!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


It’’s Wednesday, July 15th and the sun is shiny brightly over the pure white field that is the polar ice cap. There are breaks running through in vein-like patterns that look like a minimalist version of Jackson Pollack. The Artic Ocean peeks shyly out from underneath in thin linear fashion. There is nothing visible on top of the floes and from 34,000 feet it could literally be the sea of Tranquility.
And then there’s what is going on up here on this Boeing 777. Ever been to China? Don’t want to leave the US and fly for 12 hours cramped up in a little airplane seat? Well, I know a way you can do it. It does involve buying a plane ticket unfortunately, but hey. I never said it would be cheap. And you have to go through airport security. Yeah, I know. What a drag. But if you are wllling to indulge me here, I can get you pretty close to the same experience sans Beijing traffic, air pollution and a bad smell or two and some, but not all of the volume. Book your seat toward the back of the economy cabin and Tah Dah. You have arrived. Better than one of the Chinatowns in New York, Chicago, or San Francisco. You will find yourself amidst a workd of Chinese men and women, none of whom look like they could be a star in their own reality series about how they conquered morbid obesity. Everyone’s hair and skin is very similar in color. And don’t let the Western clothes fool you. NO ONE speaks English after about row 17. Everone is happily yapping…about what? I have no idea. Probably “How did this big white girl get back here.?” The reading material is all Chinese and of course, since they only speak Mandarin, no one is sitting in the right seat. Yep, you are back at Southwest Airlines and when you enquire about why the person might be sitting in your seatn, you are met by a host of vacuous stares with broad smiles beneath them. “Sank you. Sank you,” the middle aged woman with the book of Chinese characters says to me. I go to the flight attendant for assistance. She says, “Don’t look at me. I’m Japanese. I don’t speak Mandarin.” Later on, this same flight attendant will come by with the euphemistically named “:in flight meal service” and ask the lady I sit next to if she wants the chicken or the beef, leaving me to sit next to this very quiet tiny Asian female clucking and mooing until she gets the picture. And making me wish to say, “Hey United. Beijing is NOT in Japan. And where’s the noodles?” The lady looks at her plate as though she has been offered a cow paddy from a not overly healthy bovine-- the meat swarming in some sort of unappetizing grey gravy. I shrug. I want to say, “Look, lady, this is why you always order the vegetarian meal on line before you board.” SHe looks a bit perplexed and holds the dripping rectangle of meat up with a fork and then dips it back down for a baptism before eating off a small corner.
Across the aisle way are what appear to be Chinese American kids roughly ages eight to thirteen--three of them, earbuds in place, arguing about Nickelback songs and which is the best one while calling each other “asshole’ and dropping the “f” bomb right and left. I know when I get to Beijing, I will encounter more typically appearing American prepubescent humans in the airport dong the same thing. I look at the guardian of these Asian American teens. He is a thin unassuming man of about forty. I figure he either doesn’t speak English or he learned to speak it as a clerk in a convenience store in downtown Dallas or L.A where apparently any word combinations are permissible, no matter how profane ,as long as you have the money for the quart of ;Miller High Life and the rolling papers.

I didn’t tell you how to exit the aircraft before takeoff, therefore eliminating any real need to actually go to China, did I? Well, now the Chinese government will be taking your temperature, so we are prewarned in our seats that if we don’t feel good, let them know and they will “reschedule us.” If I were you, having enjoyed my authentic Chinese experience without ever leaving he runway, I would saunter off to your nearest Chinatown and have some dimsum. The food in the United skies isn’t all that friendly.

And by the way, thanks to the international date line, I just flew into tomorrow. Ni hao.