People are funny, adorable, and a really great idea. I’m glad that God came up with us, and when I’m traveling, I find great personal enjoyment in watching said adorable people. It reminds me that even though we’re different, at our core we’re pretty much the same.
If there are no objections, I’d like to submit how we fly as evidence for the jury.
First, baggage. We’ve all got some, and it all needs to be stored. Some people store their luggage as if they’re the only ones who have any. We call those people clueless at best, and selfish at worst.
Some people feel the need to then fix the luggage those other people put in the overhead bin. You might call those people compulsive, but I call them heroes because they make room for me to put my luggage in the bin.
Second, let’s talk about how a plane filled with adorable people handle preparing to exit the plane after landing. Some always feel the need to stand up and get their bags out of the bin, even though they are in row 97 and won’t be able to move for three more hours.
Those “quick to stand” people always look at the rest of us still sitting as if we’re slackers, but we aren’t. We’re the smart ones who are saving our strength in case the moving sidewalks in the terminal aren’t working, and we may have to actually, well, walk.
It was during this sitting and waiting purgatory when I noticed that a large majority of the people, whether standing or staring at the ones not standing, quickly took their phones off airplane mode so they could check in with people who were either waiting for them, or missing them.
The lady next to me, who was also one of the sitting people, just made a phone call. I wasn’t snooping, but I did notice that the contact name was Fluffy My Daughter.
I’m not sure what I think about that. Is she really hairy? Is this lady calling her dog? Is her daughter really named Fluffy, and if it is, why did this seemingly nice elderly lady name her that?
Update: Fluffy didn’t answer, and she’s now calling Last Child. Really, that’s the name on the phone. Last Child.
I hate that the flight is over because I have so many more questions.
While I’ll never know who Fluffy is or the story behind the ominously named, Last Child, I do know one thing: We’ve all got people in or lives that love us, and that we love. It’s easy to lose sight of that in the normal day-to-day routine, but do something a little out of the ordinary — like, say, flying 30,000 feet high in a metal tube — and you remember that, for all of our differences, we all want the same thing.
We just want to love and be loved, and to know and be known.
Even if we never know what the deal is with Fluffy.
