#APLangeAdventure: First Flight

     So we have to write a narrative essay about an adventure we had over Spring Break, and me, being the overzealous writer that I am, wrote a first draft before we even got back from break. Now, having been given the actual assignment requirements, I'm definitely going to have to change some things and add some more stuff, but I thought it would be fun to share what I have so far. My adventure was riding in an airplane for the first time.

First Flight

The view from my window. 

Everything I knew about flying came from TV and the media. I recall a certain episode of Caillou where he flies for the first time. A clip from the movie Bridesmaids where the poor friend makes a fool out of herself in first class. A Key and Peele sketch featuring two kooks intent on sparing the plane from terrorist attacks. Now that I have flown in an airplane, I can attest to the fact that it’s not nearly as exciting, nor as terrifying as the news and television shows make it out to be. It was just another one of those things that was far more complex and interesting in my imagination than it was in reality. I’m not even really sure how I feel about the whole experience because there wasn’t that much to feel things about.
The hours working up to the flight out to Tampa were not filled with anxiety about crashes or terrorist attacks or missing luggage. Instead my apprehension was rooted entirely in the fear of going temporarily deaf because I had a head cold. I had purchased Earplanes and Airborne and copious amounts of cough drops and a pack of Cobalt 5 Gum, all of which turned out to be superfluous because I was totally fine other than a small pressure headache that wore off quickly enough. I did feel like a fish out of water at times because I had no idea how to do things that Morgan, my trusty flying partner, had done plenty of times before. By the flight back into DC, all of the charm and fear of flying was gone and I just wanted to go home.
            As with everything in my life, I noticed the people more than anything else, especially on the way back. I guess I have my writer’s brain to blame for that-- to me everyone is a character. Like the beautiful elderly woman in the seat next to me who spoke fluent something-- maybe Yiddish?-- and was headed to Virginia to see her very sick sister. Or the two gorgeous guys sitting five rows behind me that I had to crane my neck unnaturally to get a glimpse of. Or the business-casual pony-tail lady across the aisle who was watching a movie on her phone that I swear I’ve seen before. Or the man with Greek god-like features a few rows in front who was on our flight out as well, and was wearing the same exact outfit, only this time it was rumpled, and he look rumpled too. I noticed the plane and the seats and the miniature bathroom and the view from the porthole window, of course. But still those things didn’t capture my attention as much as the humans that surrounded me on all sides. I decided that the passengers of American Airlines flight 1846  would be a good group to survive with on a Lost-esque island if it came to that. Admittedly, the bulk of the flight home, my mind was occupied with imagining out a whole island plane crash scenario involving everyone on the plane. Morbid, perhaps, but it kept my mind off the reality, which was that I had a headache, and the plane ride was stuffy and actually pretty boring.
My favorite part about flying was not even flying. It was the airport. The airport is a people watcher’s dream come true, and I am an avid people watcher. There’s so much life in an airport, so many stories. It’s where people go to say goodbye, where people meet up with long lost friends and lovers, where hundreds of languages and skin colors commingle in the bustling harmony of coming and going. In the airport, everyone is different and yet everyone has something in common: travel. The reason why the plane itself was not my favorite part was because it didn’t really meet any of my expectations. The flight attendants were not pretty, the turbulence was not scary, the complimentary peanuts were nonexistent, and club soda is just carbonated water. I didn’t get special first flyer wings, and I didn’t fall in love with the handsome stranger sitting in the seat next to me (mostly because Morgan was in the seat next to me, and she is not a stranger, and she is also not my type).
Riding in an airplane was utterly uneventful. It was everything and nothing I had hoped for at the same time. I feel an odd void about the entire experience, because there’s really not much to tell, and no one is particularly interested in hearing about someone riding on an airplane, because it’s frankly very ordinary. The thing is, I like to be different. I used to be able to say “I’ve never flown before” and then people would give me that look of awe and disbelief that I, at the ripe old age of eighteen, had never flown. But now I have flown, and I am no longer set apart. And I know it’s silly to lament my previous lack of experience, but I am going to miss the gawks and wows. I like to surprise people, but having flown in a plane, I can no longer surprise people by saying I haven’t.
When we touched down in Washington D.C. and unclicked our seatbelts, I had the realization that I love my home. I liked Florida, and flying was an interesting experience. But I don’t think I was cut out for world travel. Where I live, in my tiny little town in my comfortable home with my own quirky family, that’s where I belong. There’s so much I haven’t discovered in my own little corner of the world that I can’t even begin to think about the rest of it, at least not yet. And while the airplanes portrayed onscreen are far more glamorous than actual airplanes, I think I will be okay with watching fictitious people fly to and fro while I sit on my couch and make remarks about how “that’s nothing like the real thing”. Because sometimes that real thing is not that amazing, and not that bad. Sometimes the real thing is just okay. 

-VaughnDL