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THE
FAMILY
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About two years ago, I was on one of those routine trips between Los Angeles and San Jose in an over crowded Southwest flight. Southwest boards passengers in groups of thirty and I got my chance in the third group. As I entered, all good seats have been taken and all I saw was the empty lounge seats in the second half of the aircraft. These dreaded lounge seats are unique creations of Southwest, an airline known for its creative genius. Whenever they had space that was a bit large for a single row but pretty small for two rows, Southwest would put up two rows of seats facing each other and glamorously name it as lounge seat. It is up to the hapless passengers to deal with the problem of managing the leg space amongst themselves. It would seem like a human right abuse to see overweight women with walking sticks fixing themselves in these cramped environs. That day, I had no option but to park myself on the aisle of the lounge seats. I was facing the nose of the plane. Two other guys joined me one sat on the window seat opposite to me and the other next to me thus all three of us in sharing the leg room in the most comfortable way. But the happiness was short lived. Just a few minutes before the doors were to be closed, a family of three, a quintessential American family hurried in. A tall man with glasses carrying a brief case, wearing a closely checked shirt with high collar and lapels buttoned down, a neatly pressed trousers and brown business shoes, with a self imposed look of intent and seriousness reminding me of Chevy Chase in National Lampoon Holiday movies was moving in fast. Following him was his wife, a big built middle-aged woman and following them was their daughter, a thoroughly disinterested ten-year-old girl who seemed to hate every other living specie around her. This girl reminded me of the disgruntled son character in Chevy Chase movies. Much against my prayers, the guy came up to our row and declared loudly, “Honey let us sit here”. He opened the overhead locker and shoved his brief case, his wife and daughter’s little baggage, in that process couple of overcoats inside the locker was crushed and a leather jacket was hanging half down. Nonchalantly the man shut the locker with a flourish and moved in to park himself near the window. The wife and child sat directly opposite to me. Within a minute, the man decided to get some reading material from his brief case. He got up and moved and two sounds followed, ‘thud’ and ‘ouch’. Our Chevy Chase banged his head on the overhead locker and his shoes crushed my neighbor’s toes. He pulled out a book and returned to his seat. Our Chevy crossed his legs in that process kicking the passengers sitting opposite and next to him. He suddenly realized that he needed something else, the routine of getting up and opening the locker followed, this time he pulled out a highlighter. This time his efforts spared our toes but my coat fell on me. By then the angry stewardess ushered him back to his seat. He suddenly realized that there were bags under the seats where his wife and kid were sitting. He tried pushing them out and asked us if it was ours. He asked me remove them. I looked at him with no emotions and said no and continued looking at him. The self-imposed focused look flipped back into its native state of helpless despair. He turned to my neighbor and asked him to remove his bags. The totally infuriated passenger just glared at him. The Chevy Chase rediscovered the virtues of reading. By this time the plane has become airborne. The kid sitting before me was swinging her legs and both my shins were taking the kicks. Whenever I move the legs away, her legs were sure to home in. Suddenly the lady decided to get a different book. The girl complained about hers and a new book was given to her. The leather jacket fell down this time. Our Chevy, feigning a total concentration was intently reading the dog-eared paperback, repeatedly marking important sentences with his highlighter. Once in a few minutes, he would review his work and feel totally pleased. Usually I get very irate when exposed to such situations, but this time something amused me and I decided to watch the unfolding drama. This is a very short flight of 50 minutes, twenty of which is lost in ascend and descent and hardly about 30 minutes in level flight, Southwest offers a bag of peanuts and half a glass of soft drink. When the stewardess came up to take drink orders, the Chevy Chase asked with a flourish, “What do you have?” The irritated stewardess rattled out mechanically what drinks they carry. Chevy Chase listened very intently, pondered for a moment, his fingers thoughtfully tapping the book and turned his head around imperiously and said in a firm voice, “I shall have some Coke please”. I was biting my lips to stave off the laugh. The well-trained stewardess did well to hide her grimaces. Our Chase turned around to his wife and asked, “Honey what would you have?” The wife faithfully asked what they have, the irritated stewardess rattled out what they carry once again and the wife chose Coke, the Chevy took control once again and ordered a Coke for his Lady! Mercifully the girl did not want anything. She was still feeling totally irritated about all living species around her. Before the drinks could be delivered the wife and kid changed their books once again and I had the pleasure of my toes crushed under the foot of Mrs Chase this time and my shins continued to receive the kicks from the girl. Just when the drinks were served, Mr Chase decided to switch seats with his daughter. He suggested that she sit at the window and look out. Another round of tow crushes later the family was reseated. Chase decided to cross his legs once again and this time it was my neighbor and I had the privilege of getting his kicks. A moment or two later, Chevy advised his family to take a bathroom break. The family trooped out to the toilet, duly lead by Chevy. Ten minutes and lots of sheepish grins between me and other passengers later, the family returned. This time the daughter wanted her original seat back; perhaps she liked my shin better. A few minutes later the plane commenced its descent. Mr. Chase got up and put back his book, I looked at its cover and it was titled, “A guide to good parenting”. Another round of wry smiles was exchanged between the other passengers. Ten minutes later the plane landed in San Jose, as it was taxiing, Mr. Chase got up to open the locker, the irate stewardess screamed from the back, “Sit Down”. This impolite command said it all. When the plane came to a halt, Mr. Chase jumped out first, opened the locker sending my bag and another tumbling down, collected his belongings and trooped his family out, the rest of the passengers gave them the right of way. Mr. Chevy looked around one last time as if to imply that they all have had the privileges of traveling with him and his family. Despite the aching shins and stained trousers, I was feeling as if an interesting drama has come to a halt. Even two years after this incident, the memory of this trip has not gone away from me. The other day, I saw in the news, President Bush coming back from his Camp David retreat with his dog in his hand and his wife in tow. As he drew near the press cameras, he put up the best ‘Presidential Looks’ and head held high; he uttered his usual rhetoric in a firm ‘man in control’ voice. This instantly reminded me of the images of Mr. Chase and his family traveling with me between LA and San Jose. Mr. Chase and his family would nicely suit the Air Force One ambiance. Mr. Chase could look and talk just as firm and forceful as the incumbent President. And with the two Bushes to measure himself against, Mr. Chase, is sure to tower over them with his intellectual prowess! |
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