All things being equal, I like dogs and cats way better than babies and children, so when I found my seat on the plane — a middle seat in steerage — my heart sank. It was going to be a long flight to Denver.
Seated in my row were two heavy women, both sleeveless and perspiring hugely in the heat of the summer afternoon. The woman on the aisle was holding an infant who was screaming at the top of its lungs. The woman in the window, who I learned was the infant’s grandmother, was coughing loudly.
I took my seat, with a moist, meaty arm sandwiching me on either side. To make matters worse, there was no place for my legs: a filthy diaper bag was under the seat in front of me. Knowing the answer, I asked the mother, “Is this yours?” She glared at me. “I got no room under my seat,” she said. I looked under Grandma’s seat. “Don’t look at me,” she said.
My knees in my chin, I hailed the flight attendant and explained the situation. The flight attendant, a fearsome harpy, was curt. “The woman has a baby,” she said, “Buck up.”
The baby kept screaming in flight, while the mother and grandmother talked across me as if I wasn’t there. “Maybe you’d like the middle seat,” I asked Grandma hopefully, “so you two can chat?”
“I throw up in the middle seat,” said Grandma. I looked to my other side. “Don’t look at me,” Mom said, artfully rearranging the baby in such a way that it could kick me in the ribs. The baby screamed louder. The flight attendant went by and smiled fondly. “Beautiful baby,” she said. The baby looked like Shrek.
Grandma coughed louder as though she was suffering from end-stage tuberculosis. Periodically she would spit into a horrible, stained hanky and examine the contents, as though looking for pearls. “It’s getting worse,” she muttered.
Since Shrek continued to scream, Grandma offered to hold it. “Thank God,” said Mom. Shrek, screaming louder, kicked me in the face as it was passed across me. A minute later, grandma gave it back. “It’s hungry,” she said.
In a kind of stupor I watched as Mom, in the most conspicuous manner possible, began to breastfeed Shrek. Suffice it to say that I have never been that close to a nursing mother in my life and Shrek was a noisy eater. I sat in the middle seat, closed my eyes and wished I were dead. The flight attendant passed by. “I loved nursing my kids,” she said conversationally, “I never wanted to stop.”
After eating, Shrek threw up lavishly, then fell asleep. For a moment there was quiet in the plane but too soon an unmistakable odor filled the cabin. Mom put down her tray table and while I gagged silently she changed Shrek diaper right at her seat. The flight attendant was serving drinks. “I miss changing diapers,” she said, taking the soiled diaper and throwing it away in the drink cart before she passed me a Diet Coke.
Shrek screamed louder as we descended. The flight attendant returned. “I love baby’s feet!” she said. She bent down to kiss Shrek’s bare right foot and, on impulse, took the baby’s entire foot into her mouth. This stunned Shrek into momentary silence. I rolled my eyes.
The flight attendant glared at me. “You don’t like babies, do you?” she said acutely.
“I hate babies,” I said . “I’d rather have a cat.”
All three women snorted. “Cats are disgusting,” said Grandma, “always coughing up hairballs.” “Litter boxes are gross,” said Mom, “they stink.” The flight attendant sneered: “Cats creep me out,” she said.