Flying High

“If your lucky the baby a few rows up will cry the entire flight up to Portland today,” the flight attendant said with a tone of annoyance. “On an earlier flight this morning we had a baby cry the whole flight over and it was miserable for us. I don’t have any kids myself, but if I did I would bring cheerios on the flight,” he continued proclaiming to the passengers sitting near me.

I was already in a bad mood and this made me a bit more irritated. I don’t stick up for those who have babies in their laps on my flights. I don’t feel any sort of special connection with them. I don’t have any kids. It’s the fact that the flight attendant made an idiot out of himself and possibly embarrassed the young mother sitting ahead of me two rows. While my fellow passengers chuckled and offered their two cents on traveling with kids, I tuned them out while I dug in my bag for my ipod. I need music. I need noise. Anything to drown out the crying thing up front and to lift my mood.

I’m not sure I was supposed to fly today. Nevertheless I am on my final leg of today’s journey but it hasn’t been easy. This is the first time I have ever flown from point A to point B with two layovers in between. I really didn’t mind taking two layovers when I purchased the flight. I’m always up for an adventure. My first layover was in DFW this morning. Due to lightening storms and heavy rains from OKC to DFW my flight was delayed. Upon arrival into DFW I had to run to another terminal to catch my next flight. Arriving closer to my gate I heard my name being called out over the intercom, “MrT please proceed to gate ## for immediate boarding and departure.”

Side note about me. I HATE my full name being called out in public. I don’t like it. I can’t explain why. Just accept the fact and move on.

As I handed the gate agent my boarding pass she asked me about three other passengers who were supposed to be on my flight. She asked if I had seen them in the airport. I held back my annoyance with her and nicely told her that I knew no on in the airport and therefore didn’t know who else would be on my flight this morning. It took her a few seconds to grasp the concept but she handed back my pass and pointed the way for me to find the airplane door. While walking down to the plane I realized that my name was the only one broadcast to the entire airport though there were three other people needing to get on my flight. Why me? Upon finding my row I noticed several seats empty on the plane so I proceeded back to a row of 3 empty seats. Maybe my day would turn out better. I made myself comfortable stretching out on all three seats while I quickly glanced at my itinerary. It was then that I noticed I didn’t have another boarding pass for my next leg of the journey today. San Diego to Portland.

Arriving into San Diego I experienced the worst airport, besides Kansas City, in the years that I have traveled. There were no monitors to be seen so I could look up my flight information. I asked a gate agent and he couldn’t help me since I would be transferring to a different airline company for this last leg. I walked around and around and finally found four monitors that listed a severely small amount of departing flights. It was there that I begin to think I had to walk or ride to a different building to find my next flight. I slowly made my way out of the terminal and found myself at baggage claim. I stopped by to see if I needed to pick up my bag. I didn’t recognize any thing so I followed signs pointing the way to terminal one. There I found my next flight company and stood in line.

40 minutes passed and I didn’t move in line. I huffed and puffed and often changed which leg I put my weight on. My flight would be leaving in 20 minutes and I still had no idea what I was doing. I finally stepped out of line and cut in front of a few people to demand attention from a ticket agent. After telling her of the horrible service I encountered thus far she kindly helped me learn that OKC forgot to give me the third boarding pass and that now I have to go stand in line for security and head to gate 16. I run over to the security line and see that it’s going nowhere. I walk up front and ask the agent if I may cut due to my flight leaving in seven minutes and he won’t let me. I angrily walk to the end of the line and wait impatiently as the line sloooooooooooooooooooowly moves. Again I find myself huffing and puffing. I finally made it up to security and watched as two passengers were allowed to cut in order to make it to their flight. I think they were allowed to because of the low-lying shirts they were wearing along with their tacky colored hair. It looked like the two female passengers were taking a weekend jaunt from the retirement village to have a rendezvous in Palm Springs.

As I take off my belt and slide my shoes off again I hear over the loud speaker, “MrT please proceed to gate ## for immediate boarding and departure.” The older business woman in front of me takes her sweet time and fills up four boxes of things she doesn’t want to have in her bag as it passes thru the x-ray machine. She had two laptops. Who travels with two laptops? I’m so close to the gate, yet I’m moving nowhere when again I hear my name and announcement broadcast to the entire town of San Diego.

Eventually I make it thru security clearance and run to my gate only to find the door has been closed. The agent at the desk notices my frantic running and only says, “tell me you’re not on this flight!” I unfortunately have to break her heart and tell her I indeed am supposed to. She radios to someone who gives her permission to open the door and walk me out. I end up standing on the edge of the ramp (which has already been pulled back from the plane door) while it moves forward as the plane door swings open to let me in. I am greeted with a smile and welcomed aboard.

I settle in for the flight as I buckle my seatbelt and slide my bag under the chair in front me. As I sat back upright the head flight attendant came onto the loud speaker and said, “we all want to welcome MrT aboard today. Though you all have seen the emergency presentation, please sit back and watch again while I inform MrT”

I’m going to work on a fake name this week. From now on if my friends or anyone else needs my attention in public they can use my alias name. Any suggestions?

Odd Jobs.

He was tall and made odd facial expressions. She was short and frumpy and couldn’t stop staring at herself in my mirror. They had to be younger than 25.

Neither of them could make eye contact, but they stunk up my 9x10 office. They were operating a door-to-door cologne sales business. They talked and talked their product up trying to quiz me on my preferences of scent. Just to harass them I vocally disagreed with everything they said and threw a few challenges back at them. I was uninterested though it didn't seem to bother them. They kept spraying, spraying and spraying more bottles for me to smell.

Walking thru the perfume isles in the mall bother me to a degree. This raised the bar since they wouldn't stop spraying in my 9x10 office.

His story changed a few times so I never quite understood what he was doing. He would stake claim to one thing then change it a few minutes later. She bossed him around followed by a checkup in the mirror every 30-seconds which led to her placing her hair behind her ears several times.

I couldn’t take it anymore and had to leave my office. I don’t know how they got into my office in the first place. I could smell them all the way back in my office though they were originally upfront harassing the assistant sitting by the phone. They snuck past her and ended up back here in my doorway.

They had names I couldn’t pronounce in their boxes, so I called them out on selling fakes. She was quick to step up and say they had promos but would be selling the real ones soon, followed by a quick glance in the mirror to play with her hair. She spoke too fast at times and I had no idea what she was saying. She didn't notice the frown upon my face becasue she was looking in the mirror playing with her hair.

I eventually told them I was uninterested and they needed to leave. I could no longer breathe and I needed coffee beans to clear my senses up. I showed them the door and went up front looking to blame someone for my new headache. Instead I found half my office crew standing in the doorway themselves trying to get some fresh air. It seems as if everyone developed an instant headache with these two salespeople in our office.

I need some Tylenol. I need it now.

In Memory Of...

“On April 19, 1995, a great wrong was done in Oklahoma City, however, on this day in April the forces of fear and hate were beaten by love and compassion.”

Our team completed the marathon-relay yesterday. We finished 110 out of 427 teams.

We went out there for the challenege of working together in honor of the memory of those who lost their lives in the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995. We strove to continue the unity that formed the morning of April 19th as a city and a nation came together in support of new chapter in our nations history.

In my following post I have attached a journalistic observation paper I wrote in the fall of 2000 for a college class. I won a small award for this paper as I sat at the OKC bombing memorial one afteroon trying to come up with the idea for my paper. I post this in memory of those that lost their lives that morning. I post this in memory of those we ran for yesterday in the OKC National Memorial Marathon.

One minute

I see him sitting down the way from me in a somber mood with his hands clasped tightly and his worn out ball cap shading his dark eyes from the late afternoon sun. He is sits there alone, yet he is here along with hundreds of other observers bracketed in one moment of time. He sits here between the east and west gates silent and still frozen in time.

Through the crowd I notice him with his head bowed low.
I wonder what he is replaying over in his mind. Possibly it’s a scene that was once reported many times throughout that particular day five years ago. A scene that occured at 9:02am.

He remains still for quite some time with his eyes fixed on the ground beneath his feet. Eventually he slowly he rises to stand as he grabs the nearby railing balancing himself as he catches his breath. The sight of his breath billowing out of his dry mouth only makes this autumn day a bit chillier.

Paying no attention to those around him, the gentleman faces westward, placing the memorial pool at his back and the sun directly on his wrinkled face. As he stares at the street that lay before him I wonder if he sees any semblance to the way he is standing. Looking west, the way the street is directed, he is conveniently turned away from the pain and sorrow which he and I are both standing on. The street easily carry's those feelings away towards the setting of the sun.

With ease the older gentleman turns around and slowly starts walking my way. Heading towards the monumental 9:01 east gate, which I am closer to than he, each step is slow and small.

With two different minutes in the nine o'clock hour on them, the gates stand tall imposing shadows over the green grass and dark shallow water. The one minute between each gate can easily make the longest minute of this gentlemen’s life as he continues my direction step by step.

A large crowd catches up behind the man as they frantically try to keep pace with what looks to be an official tour guide directing them. The older man soon falls hidden into the crowd unable to keep their pace as he keeps steady and unobtrusive. Pace though, is the last thing on his mind today.

The group of onlookers stops just short of where I am sitting to listen intently as the guide tells them different facts about the entire memorial. Emerging from the crowd though is my subject, the older man.

As he walks right by me I appear distracted and not fixed upon his movements. But for him, anyone standing within five feet of him is non-existent today. Instead his mind is filled with pictures and thoughts. Images flash through his mind about as swift as his pace to the east gate.

Parallel to this man lays a quarter-inch deep pool of chilly waters. This pool is measured to be the exact width of the streets that lay outside each towering gate. The streets that carry individuals to this place are also the paths to which the painful memories can be carried out.

Shortly after the older man walks past me, a child runs towards him and nearly misses him as she stops abruptly at the edge of the water. She reaches deep into her coat pockets pulling out small change to throw towards the middle of the reflecting pool. With her parents walking behind her they reveal a smile after her gesture of innocence, a smile that possibly means a thousand different things.

A smile though is not evident on this older gentleman. I see him shoot a quick glance over his shoulder inquiring what just happened behind his back.

Interrupting the silence of the afternoon sun, neighboring churches bells begin to ring eight times. I wonder if each one of those ringing of the bells represents 21 different individuals who died on this spot five years ago. I wonder if one of the 168 people who died here knew this older gentleman somehow.

As the older man moved toward the end of the reflecting pool he stops to look up at the imposing tower that stands before him. He could be staring that the cloudless sky but somehow I think he is looking at the time imprinted on the gate- 9:01

Leaning his back against the east gate, the older man looks westward now. I can’t help but notice him catch a glimpse of the empty chairs to his left, then the symbolic survivor tree on his right.
I sense that this gentleman has been here many times before.

Pretending to be unaware of this man I move in closer to the scene, but keep my eyes in the pool to my right. How can such a shallow pool look so deep yet so calming?

As I close in on the presence of this man a frightening scene appears before me. A sight I have never seen before at the memorial. Embalmed on the gate are an innumerable amount of handprints. Across the width of the gate and reaching up nearly seven feet tall these handprints reach out. Eerily, I look over at the gentleman wondering if he knows what is on the wall he is now leaning against. I can’t help but imagine that each of these handprints belongs to one of the 168 people. How strange to see those reaching out to this gentleman asking for help. If not for help, those hands reach for support in holding this gentleman up who has prayed non-stop for these individuals.

Here at the gate he closes his eyes turning his face up to the sky. The sun has lowered some, but still shines brightly upon his face. It is here that I see a teardrop fall from his closed eyelids.

I slowly turn around and walk the length of the reflecting pool again, and pass through the west gate. I turn around and try to catch one more glimpse of this man, only to realize he has disappeared as quickly as I have left. Not as quickly though as the memory of one day five years ago.