I had some spare time before departure at San Diego Int Airport after fighting the rigor of USA aiport security. Spare time meant three rounds of Odwalla smoothie and bar (nothing else is edible) and free public wifi which is as foreign to a South African lad as bottomless sodas and open seating on planes.
But before I strategize for open seating the South West ticketing attendant notifies passengers of a potential weather diversion. Apparently its gale force and snowing in Reno but that said in context of typical conservative and safety conscious America. I only get to drive at 25 miles/h in Truckee!? I dismiss my agitation and assimilate information: Southwest are unsure which alternate airport would be used, but are sure that they will not cover any meals or accommodation expense, and as such is offering to reschedule any passengers.
Back to open seating. It works as follows: You get assigned an alphanumeric boarding que position, but no seat number. So the earliest check in’s pick a seat, let say all the window seats. The next batch will take all the isle seats, and generally couples will occupy a window and an isle. So the last batch have to choose which two people to inconvenience and squeeze between. If its an obese guy fitting in beside you as a first batch window seat wishful, it might have paid dividends to wait till the end. Needless to say I got it wrong on the way down to San Diego and had what felt like the entire plane staring at my decision on who to squeeze between. I was the last to board and only one set of three seats seemed to need filling…
Eager to avoid a repeat embarrassment – I bag my free wifi earlier than usual. Ironically the plane is empty and I have three seats to my book, backpack and sleepy self. Not far in into the 90minute flight and I’m dreaming of better days to come.
But then, and here’s what I’ve been trying to get at all along, I’m violently woken from peaceful slumber by my seat. Moments of zero gravity and moments of going the opposite direction as my seat. Cursing came naturally, just like instantly gripping both arms rests with white knuckles like they had been the sole missing ingredient to my eternal happiness. More natural cursing and I was thinking to shout from row 18 to the Captain that I would pay all accommodation and meal expense for the entire plane… If he would just abort now.
Shit, kidding aside, I’ve done some flying in my time (turning 25 this year you know) and this was ten fold worse than any air turbulence I’ve flown through. Looking over the seats, and I could as I was sitting bolt upright, everyone else was sitting in identical straight on style. Crisis. The pilot banked at some stage and the arm rests were banging up my hips… There was that much bouncing around in the plane.
It was obvious the pilot had dinner plans.
So I take back my conservative view on American safety measures. We made it across the Sierra Nevada range and eventually onto a snowy runway to the raucous applause of everyone on-board, including myself.
