NEW DAY NEW LESSON

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So now that jet-lag seems to be loosening its death grip on me and my brain fuzz is clearing a bit, I can write a little bit about my two week trip (all on my own) to the states. Though I’ll give you fair warning and tell you that you are going to have to go through a long winded detour to get to the point of this post which will probably be at the end.

 

I am not a happy flier. Most of the time I am not a pathetically nervous flier. I just don’t enjoy the flights very much.

 

**Long winded story detour alert ahead.**

Some of my flight trauma can probably be traced back to a flight I took about 18 or so years ago with my hubby and two little kids. When the plane was over the Atlantic you know, over the ocean, no land, nothing in site…, the steward asked if there was a doctor on board. When no one came forth, I told him I was a nurse and I asked if I could help.

 

He took me towards the front of the plane. I prepared myself mentally and said to myself, okay, someone in business class is having a heart attack or something. But no. The steward continued walking and headed up the stairs. Okay, I thought to myself. Someone in first class is having a heart attack or something. But NO! The steward continued to the front of the plane and opened the freaking door to the cockpit. The pilot was not feeling too good. Let’s just say that it’s a good thing my bladder control was a lot better back then.

 

For crying out loud. No person whose feet like to be planted firmly grounded on the ground should ever have to hear those words. As a matter of fact, no person whose feet like to be firmly planted on the ground should ever have to see with their own eyes that the pilots can’t see anything but clouds out of their window. I know (rationally) that planes fly with radar, but I really did not need to be shown that.

 

Anyways, back to the pilot. He felt like he was running a fever.

 

Lucky for him I was traveling with two little kids. So I went back down to my seat and came back up to the cockpit clutching a pouch filled with all kinds of stuff including a thermometer. Lucky for the pilot it was a never used rectal thermometer. Really, honestly. It was brand new.

 

So in case you were wondering, the pilot had a fever. I gave him two acetaminophen (Tylenol) and he took them. Too bad it was only after he took them that he thought to ask the steward (in French) whether the pills I gave him would make him drowsy. I felt like yelling : GOOD MORNING! Don’t you think you should have checked before you swallowed them??!@#*^!  I didn’t. Instead I hurried back down to my seat, buckled myself in and held on for the rest of the flight.

 

So, yes. I have been traumatized. I have a reason to be a nervous wreck flier.

**End of long winded story detour.**

 

So back to the here and now.

 

My husband is the too frequent flier in our family. Unlike me, he doesn’t feel the need to show up at the airport hours and hours in advance. Unlike me, he can actually fall asleep on planes. Unlike me, he doesn’t give a second thought to the creaking plane sounds. (You know the ones that make the plane sound like it is falling apart.) Unlike me, he doesn’t do online check-in and by mistake declare that he is carrying hazardous materials in his suitcase.

 

And unlike me he doesn’t embarrass himself at every possible turn.

 

Like I did on my flight from Las Vegas to Seattle. I boarded the plane and made my way back to my seat. I got to my seat, 26D, and someone was sitting in it. Lucky for me I was polite when I asked him if he was sitting in the right seat. He asked to see my boarding pass. He then very kindly pointed out to me that my seat was 20D not 26D which was our boarding gate.

Oh the shame when the stewardess had to have everyone in the aisle move backwards so that I could make my way back to my seat. I think my face was the shade of a tomato.

 

And as I sat down and tried to hide my face, all I thought was that my husband would never had made that amateur mistake. After all the miles he has logged, flying is second nature to him.

 

And the same is true for most things in life. The more you do something, the more you are used to doing something, the less mistakes you make doing it.

 

What things have you gotten more proficient at by doing them more?

And more importantly, what embarrassing mistakes have you made?

Go on, make me feel less incompetent better. Please.

Or maybe I should have just listened to the sign in Vegas and kept my embarrassment to myself.

Nah. I like making people laugh. Even if it’s at me.