Perspective.

A couple of weeks ago I was flying down to visit my mother for Easter weekend.  In an effort to save a little cash, I decided to carry on my weekend suitcase versus paying $25 to check it.  As we boarded, the woman directly in front of me - who was seated in the row behind mine - set her unzipped purse sideways in the overhead bin.  Her bag was approximately the size of a college ruled, wire bound notebook, and yet she had decided she would be basically taking up the entire bin with this one handbag.  I imagine a good number of you who read this blog have flown enough to appreciate how infuriating this type of behavior can be and I like to think there is a special spot reserved in hell for people that do this.  (It is right next to the people who put their coats in an empty bin right after the flight attendant has made an announcement asking people to hold onto their coats until suitcases are loaded so the coats can go around the bigger bags.)

Anyway.  While this woman was setting her bag gingerly in the overhead and asking everyone around if she was allowed to hold her ipad - and oh, did we hear her it's a brand new ipad, the latest version - I was struggling to lift my own suitcase into the same bin where she'd set her purse.  I slid her bag over to the left and the gentleman behind me, your classic Harley Davidson patron with his leather jacket and multiple tattoos, quietly asked me if I could use some help.  I nodded, grateful, and he lifted my bag into the bin.  Before we go any further, you should know that my suitcase never touched this woman's bag.  But biker dude and I had to negotiate space a bit because I had too many books (classic Kelli) in my front suitcase pouch and therefore the suitcase wouldn't slide in easily.

You can probably surmise all that unfolded next.  Bag lady started FREAKING OUT about how nothing should be in the bin with her precious handbag (the one that was so precious she'd left it unzipped and decided she'd rather put it in the overhead versus on the floor by her feet) and HOW DARE THIS BIKER DUDE TOUCH HER BAG, DID HE HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT HE WAS DOING.  Biker man (whom I later learned was named David) and I raised our eyes at one another, both of us silently conveying what a lunatic we'd encountered.  Sensing impending disaster, a flight attendant stepped in to calmly and politely explain that the bins needed to be shared.  She moved the woman's handbag to an appropriate smaller space (much to the dismay of the lady, I might add, since she still insisted it deserved it's own bin) (Let us also remember we were flying coach where everyone is basically treated as if they're one step above some chickens in a cargo plane.) Eventually I was able to get my suitcase into the bin above my head with David/Biker man's help. After my bag was in place and I thanked him, rolling my eyes about the crazy lady as I did so, he smiled back. "Well now I have to go sit next to her for two hours."

As he sat down crazy woman began reading him the riot act, which, of course was completely uncalled for.  In fact, the entire situation was uncalled for, really.  On and on and on this woman goes, telling David how she wishes that he HAD damaged her bag because she would make him pay for it. And did he have ANY idea that that was a $600 bag?  Thankfully, David kept his cool - what a sweet, kind soul he was - and whenever I would look back at him, he'd give me a wink, completely tuning psycho out.

When our plane finally landed in Atlanta and David and I were able to escape the crazy, (who had even filed a complaint against the flight attendant who touched her precious bag!) he and I walked together until our paths took us in opposite directions and we were forced to bid one another farewell.  He lives in Arkansas, that sweet man.  I hope one day I'm lucky enough to find myself visiting Little Rock so I can visit the Harley store and tell him hello.  For he made my day during a very nutty and tough flight. (I won't even get into the stories I have about the woman who I was sitting next to.)

Initially I had no plans to write about this encounter, deciding I would just chalk it up to another crazy adventure in the world of air travel.  But it keeps coming back to me, when I'm walking home from work or washing the dishes, I will think for a moment both about that horrible woman and his polar opposite, kind and gentle David. The anger and hate living within that woman was so palpable; all I could think as I listened to her complain was what an ugly soul she was.  During the flight and on random occasions since, I have found myself offering up internal prayers of gratitude for not living my life that way; praying that my internal compass will never become that ugly. 

I am not proud to admit this, but I will. I discounted David when I first noticed him behind me in line on our flight.  He was easy to stereotype, with his aforementioned tough guy biker look.  And yet, look how immensely wrong I was; what a good, kind, calm soul he turned out to be. Quite the lesson there, huh?  Funny, sometimes, how the universe can point out the most gentle of reminders in the most random of circumstances.  Even on an airplane.