Benjamin's Posterous

Don't Break the Overhead Compartments

For some airlines the maximum length for carryon luggage is 22 inches.
Bags much longer run the risk of not fitting into the overhead
compartments. My carryon, while only a half inch over, looks bigger
than it is and always draws doubtful looks from the flight staff.
However, with careful placement it always fits.
 
After firmly pushing my suitcase into the overhead, I closed the bin
to check that the door actually closed before reopening it and finding
my seat. As I settled into my flight, the flight attendant began to
announce that "if your bag is too large for the overheads we will have
to check it". I knew immediately that she was eying my bag but I
ignored the announcement because my bag fit. I had tested that, on
many flights and many aircraft.
 
As the plane began to fill with passengers, the announcement was
repeated with even more emphasis and urgency. The expectation was
that the owner of the large bag would yield and relinquish their bag
to the staff, surrendering the contraband. This did not happen. This
was unacceptable.
 
When the flight attendant approached my seating area and asked for the
owner of the offending bag, I turned off my iPod and prepared for
battle. I responded stating that the bag fit and that I had checked
it just a few moments ago. To my surprise, she replied, "I want you
to show me that it fits!". The level of tension quieted everyone
around me and suddenly, despite my polite attempts at conversation, I
became the character in question.
 
Everyone watched as I slowly and carefully rose from my seat and
approached the overhead. Confidence was key here. I had to shut the
door with force but without slamming it and this time I had an
audience. "Don't break the door" the attendant heckled as I reached
up for the handle. I was undeterred. With a quick motion I slid the
door down and waited for the familiar click as the latch caught the
lock. Click. To the surprise of both the attendant and my new audience
the door had closed without problems. I found my seat and the
attendant walked away.
 
Nothing was said until I was leaving the aircraft upon arrival. Not
only did I receive a very sincere apology for the ordeal, but the
attendant used my name, obviously having looked it up on the manifest.
 Whether this was an attempt to prevent a complaint or just to make a
human connection, both succeeded. I have no immediate plans to
replace my luggage however.

Myoclonic Jerks on an Airplane

After boarding a very early flight to Houston and stowing my bags properly in the overhead bins, I settled into my worn but comfortable window seat and prepared my iPod for the ride. I dialed in a little Norah Jones to help me relax.  The soft-toned and mellow music combined with the low vibration of the engines usually put me right out.  Before the plane had left the gate I was sound asleep, completely oblivious to those that had sat around me and even unaware of the plane's taxi and eventual takeoff. 

My sleep, which was now taking a turn for the deep, was drawing me into dream-land where I suddenly found myself standing in my backyard. In contrast to the night that surrounded me in the real world, I was surrounded by the light of a beautiful summer day.  As I scanned yard and the gardens, enjoying the view, I noticed something.

It appeared as if the gardens needed to be trimmed, something I had neglected to do the last couple of weeks.  I made for the garage and pulled out the string trimmer.  As usual, my first pull on the starter chord yielded not a sputter.  So I pulled again.  And again.  But nothing.

Finally, getting frustrated, I decided to give it one last hard pull.  This last pull, which occurred in both the surreal and the real, not only ripped the chord from the trimmer but ripped me out of my dream and back into the reality of my small airplane seat and the close quarters of those sitting around me.  Not only did I startle myself, but I drew quite a reaction from everyone near me.

So this Software Consultant walks up to the Bar...

Another day on the road, this time in Dallas.  While the temperature hovers around 100 degrees each day, I work in air conditioned buildings.  In the evenings, I find a shaded restaurant patio bar and drink a cold Dos Equis.  Quite enjoyable.