The 11 AM flight from JFK to Fort Lauderdale is sheer bedlam. The plane is filled with harried young parents traveling with unruly children, each of whom has a bad cold, and harried middle-aged children traveling with crabby elderly parents who are older than water.
Although I hate this flight, last week it was my only option, and as I was waiting to board, I was eavesdropping on the flight attendants who were also waiting to board. One of the flight attendants, Amber, was very young and had just graduated from the Flight Academy; her colleague was considerably older and, unkindly, the term “pterodactyl” came to mind.
“Welcome to the Miracle Flight,” the pterodactyl said pleasantly; Amber looked at him curiously but he just shook his head. “You’ll see,” he said.
First they pre-boarded the passengers who needed extra time down the jetway; this included all the old folks in wheelchairs (18 of them!) and their families as well as families with young children. After all the special needs passengers were boarded I was alone in the gate area and, since the old people and young families had used all the overhead space, I had to check my bag, which annoyed me.
I was seated on the aisle and after take-off I got out my computer; I was hoping to get some work done but I was considerably distracted by the small child behind me who was practicing his kickboxing skills on the back of my seat, by the ancient man next to who was telling me how his children were a disappointment to him and by the angry harpy across from me who complained about everything.
Eventually the bar cart made its way down the aisle and as Amber handed me a Diet Coke an agitated old woman rushed up and tapped her on the back.
“Stewardess, stewardess,” said the old woman. “Do you have a Depends?”
Amber was clueless. “A what?” she asked.
“A Depends,” said the old woman, as though repeating the word would deepen Amber’s comprehension. “A Depends,” she said again.
The angry woman next to me helped Amber out. “It’s an adult diaper,” she explained as Amber stared, open-mouthed.
“My husband is incontinent,” explained the first old woman, “and he needs a Depends. Right now.”
“Why don’t you carry your own?” demanded the harpy angrily.
“Mind your own business,” said the first woman, and the two of them started to quarrel in the aisle.
The pterodactyl took over. “I’ll handle this,” he told Amber and he grabbed his microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen” he announced smoothly, “we have an awkward situation. One of our passengers is in need of a Depends adult undergarment. If any of you have one to spare, please ring your flight attendant call button.”
Before I could even process this, a symphony of flight attendant call buttons began chiming all over the cabin, which was lighting up like an incontinent Christmas tree. Simultaneous with this passengers began calling out, “Here’s one,” and “I have extras” and “Is one enough?” Several of the feistier passengers just tossed a Depends to the horrified Amber who clearly never expected to be pelted with adult diapers.
Eventually the grisly flight ended and, amazingly, of the 18 people who boarded in wheelchairs, 16 walked off the plane by themselves.
The pterodactyl was smug. “They board in a wheelchair so they can put their luggage overhead, but when we land they don’t want to wait for their wheelchair until everyone else deplanes,” he told Amber, “so they run off.”
Amber nodded, stunned.
“It’s a miracle how they’re cured in flight,” the pterodactyl deadpanned. “Must be because we’re closer to God up there. “