Playing Musical Chairs with Shirley Temple

After a few days' rest in Houston, I took off from the US again, not to return until summer 2008. I headed for southern Africa, which isn't terribly easy to reach from Texas. All of the Johannesburg-bound flights from the US were full, so I arranged a two-day stopover in London, the benefits of which were two-fold: (1) it enabled me to visit my childhood friend Melissa in London and (2) it gave me a splendid opportunity to destroy two large bags holding six months' worth of clothing. Forget visiting Buckingham Palace. If you'd like a true London adventure, try carting a massive piece of luggage through the London Underground, only to watch helplessly as it disintegrates on a stairwell, belching forth its contents on to the dirty concrete floor. You can then play a rousing game of "Pick Up Your Stuff Before It Gets Trampled By Commuters." You'll find that Londoners are happy to do their part by ignoring you completely or laughing at your misfortune.

After a harrowing journey to Heathrow from Melissa's flat (the new bag I bought to replace the aforementioned bag also broke, this time in the middle of the street in front of a speeding bus), I finally settled in my seat for an overnight flight to Cape Town, South Africa.

One of the unfortunate realties of solo air travel is that I'm constantly engaged in a thankless game of musical chairs aboard the plane. Almost invariably, I arrive at my seat to find that my seat neighbor appears inexplicably distressed. In my attempt to be a decent person, I then find myself in a regrettable conversation:

Me: Hello there. I believe I'm seated next to you. You look a bit concerned. Can I help you with something?

Distressed Person: Yes, actually. You see, due to my own lack of planning, the airline committed a grievous offense and separated my spouse and me. So, would you mind switching with him/her? I do realize that you'll be giving up a window seat on an exit row (extra leg room) near the front of the plane that you specially reserved three months ago. I also realize that you'll be moving to a middle seat at the rear of the plane between a morbidly obese alcoholic and a screaming baby. And while I could just as easily switch my seat, therefore allowing you to keep your more desirable seat here, that option would fail to benefit me at your expense. So, would it be okay if you sat in the nightmare seat for the next 10 hours so that I can sit next to my spouse? Granted, my spouse and I do dislike one another, but at least we'll be able to exchange hateful barbs in close proximity.

Me: Certainly! Anything to help. Now, I know you find all of this quite unnerving, but if you could please stop wiping your nose with my sleeve...

Distressed Person: Oh, sorry. I assumed it was okay you treat you like rubbish in all respects. But thanks for agreeing to move! It's good you said "yes." Otherwise, I would have had to devote the next 10 hours to subjecting you to a guilt trip, and that would have been so much trouble for me. So, you can find my spouse in seat 178K, just past the braying donkeys and overflowing lavatory. Tell him that I was able to find a complete idiot to take his seat. I'll try not to cackle with self-satisfaction as you walk back.

Me: Oh, thanks...

Lo and behold, the instant I sat down in my seat (recall that I'm still talking about my flight to Cape Town), a woman approached me and asked me to switch so that she could sit next to her husband. For this particular flight, her request made no sense whatsoever. Since I'd upgraded to business class for this flight I, like all passengers, was sitting in a solitary "pod" (see photo at right). Therefore, there's no benefit in sitting next to a loved one; you can't see them or exchange hateful barbs with them. But, in my attempt to be a nice person, I moved anyway.

My move did confuse the flight attendant, who promptly brought me a Shirley Temple that I'd never ordered. Who drinks Shirley Temples? Oh yeah. People that ask to switch pods. I considered taking it to the woman with whom I'd switched seats, but decided that honoring her seat request was enough; I was in no mood to be her cocktail waitress also. So I downed the Shirley Temple myself, and found it surprisingly refreshing.

As I toyed with the cherry stem left over from my ridiculous cocktail, I noticed a group of airline employees carrying a very physically disabled woman to the seat next to me. She was unable to sit up, so they converted her seat into a bed for the entire journey. After plopping her down in the bed, tossing a duvet atop her, and cinching her in, they scattered immediately, much like a group of cockroaches when someone turns on the kitchen lights. Though I couldn't see her, the woman didn't sound so hot; she was gurgling and moaning. I began to wonder if I would need to intervene and offer assistance, which I was wholly unqualified to do.

Just then, a young woman appeared, and immediately set to assisting my invalid seat neighbor with diligent care. Clearly, this woman was a professional nurse of some sort. Over the next 20 minutes, the young nurse popped back and forth between her seat and my neighbor's no less than 15 times. I was getting exhausted just watching her, and it seemed odd that the nurse shouldn't be able to sit nearer her patient. "If there's any time to volunteer a seat change," I thought to myself, "this is it." So, I gingerly approached the nurse to discuss my generous offer.

Me: Um, hello there. I'm sitting just here and I was wondering if...

Nurse: Oh, hi! What can I do for you?

Judging by her accent, she was clearly a South African. What's more, she had one of those lovely smiles that only a selfless person like a nurse could have. She beamed with her warmth and heightened sense of empathy.

Me: Well, I noticed that you've been busy helping this woman and I was wondering if you'd like to change seats so that...

Her warm demeanor turned frigid in an instant. She gave me this look that seemed to say "you awful, awful man."

Nurse: You know, she may be disabled, but she can't hurt you.

Me: Wait, no. I...

Nurse: Don't worry, I'll take care of her myself. You won't be at all inconvenienced by her.

I looked down at her patient. She too shot daggers with her eyes; it's as if she were gurgling at me in disgust.

Me (struggling for words): I just thought that it might be more convenient for you if you were able to sit next...

Nurse: She won't affect you at all. Now, if you would allow me a moment to do my job...

Soundly defeated, I went returned to my seat. The nurse avoided me for the entirety of the flight.