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Maybe you’ve seen me. I’m the person clutching the armrests. But I wasn’t always a nervous flyer. Once, I was a relaxed passenger during the days of stewards and stewardesses, before the unisex flight attendant title became correct. I loved the look of a stewardess floating down the aisle in sturdy, but chic black high heels. Her scarf would flutter slightly as she poured a ginger ale with an efficient flourish. During this period of airline travel, our meals were served on pfaltzgraff crockery. Travelers were offered hot towels before descending so they arrived fresh. Airlines served croissants and warm cookies with tongs. I tried to duplicate the technique at home. Even in flat shoes an on firm land, the tong pass is harder than it looks.
Over the years, warm cookies and anything else requiring tongs vanished from economy air travel. As corner after corner have been cut from air travel, I’ve wondered if safety checks had been cut, too. How can an airplane be inspected carefully when it’s often docked for only 30 minutes between flights?
As civility faded, my anxiety increased. I no longer look forward to flying. It is just the price we pay in order to attend a vacation. So allow me to issue a few apologies regarding my tense behavior. For everyone who suffered from me hogging the armrest, I’m sorry, but I really do need to hold on tight. To my husband, I’m sorry for waking you up all those times, just to ask if you think we’re going to crash. To everyone on the flight from Utah to Atlanta in 2008, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for yelling out the F word multiple times when our dinky, dinky plane banked too far to the left during our ascent.
I know that some things were not better in the good old days. The rolling luggage never worked. Maintaining separate smoking and nonsmoking sections onboard didn’t work either. But back then I didn’t start my vacation with a body scan and seven different people barking orders at me. I didn’t wonder about air traffic errors or people turning their underpants into bombs. I only wondered about how the stewardess tied her scarf, and if they were going to run out of the chicken.
Becky Reil is a lover of art, architecture and good food. Traveling with her husband and friends is her favorite way to enjoy all of her interests. She ate her way through thirteen countries and has several trips planned for the near future. Local food is her passion, and she will reluctantly share her "secret" sources for sausage, beef, grits and produce. Becky is constantly working to enlarge her fabric stash and enjoys quilting and collecting textiles. A graduate of Radford University, she has worked as an Art Teacher and as a Job Coach for disabled persons.
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