I’m starting to realize that I’m an actual adult. At least, in the eyes of A) people who are much younger than I am, B) teachers who expect me to print my readings, and C) other adults on airplanes. The thing about certain adult airline passengers, your flying compatriots, is that once you are no longer a lap child, you are an adult. Seats will not be shifted. They paid for seat 374B, and even if you kindly offer your seat at 12E, in exchange for a seat next to your sister, they will gruffly answer— “I paid for this seat.” Mystifying…
I had that experience a few days ago. I wasn’t trying to switch seats. No, I was simply taking just a leeeettle too much time trying to shuffle and re-pack my two carry-ons. As much as I don’t want to overpack, I can’t help myself sometimes. A two day trip often turns into a theoretical three month adventure— at least based on the size of my bags.
Anyway. Shuffling and re-packing, shuffling and re-packing, blah blah blah. SUDDENLY! I feel a very insistent finger poking into my back.
“Excuse me?! You’re holding up the plane.”
(I was not holding up the plane, for the plane wouldn’t be taking off for another 20 minutes, and by then, I’d most certainly be done repacking.)
“Oops! Sorry!” I said in my most innocent, sycophantic, sweetie voice possible.
For some reason, that really got to me. I wasn’t even aware that I was holding up passengers, and I genuinely felt badly about it! And then I realized, if you’re an adult, and I’m an adult, I need to grow some thicker skin, or just stay a lap child.
(And yet, I am very bad at responding to negative tones of voice, disappointment, anger, the like. I wonder if that’s something that will grow easier as I continue to age…part of me thinks that it might? Part of me thinks it’s just me, and that’s just the type of adult I’m going to be…Hmm.)