Do you ever have those moments when you ask yourself, “Why am I such a walking disaster?”
I mean, I try like Hell to be coordinated and ladylike (despite the swear word in the beginning of this sentence). My parents paid for years of dance lessons and gymnastics. I look at my maternal genetic lineage and see nothing but poise and grace.
Yet, here I am. Hurricane Danielle. I must have gotten the recessive genes.
Airplanes really bring out the hot mess I posses.
Like my most recent work trip…
Making it to the Austin airport an hour and a half ahead of my flight home and surviving TSA without the usual pat down I am somehow always granted I was feeling pretty good about the way things were looking for the last leg of my work trip. I had time to grab a coffee, a Schlotzsky’s sandwich, charge my phone. — It was fantastic.
But making it through anything without making a spectacle of myself doesn’t seem to be in my cards.
Laptop case looped over my carryon handle, purse on my shoulder and brown paper sandwich bag clutched in hand, I confidently boarded Southwest Flight 2137 from Austin to Nashville. But have you ever tried maneuvering three bags and your dinner down a narrow plane aisle? I feel like even for the most graceful of humans it would be a challenge, at least that’s what I tell myself. So when not-so-graceful — last to board her flight — me took on this challenge it went a little bit like.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry about that”
All the way down the aisle until I finally stopped knocking people with my luggage and found a place to sit.
I was THAT girl.
The next hurdle I was faced with was placing my carryon in the overhead bins. Not easily swayed from a task, I grabbed my bag and bucked it like a square bale going towards a hay loft up into the bin. 2015 may be young, but that moment is holding true for my most graceful moment thus far.
Y’all it was beautiful.
That is until I couldn’t get it pushed into the back of the bin because the top of the bag was stuck on the door hinge. Which of course Earth-shattering 5’2 me couldn’t see as I proceeded to jump up and down on the plane in my attempts to punch my bag into the depths of the bin.
I was THAT girl.
Thankfully the guy sitting in the row behind me came to rescue and fixed my bag, (Yay for tall humans!) allowing me to sit down, get comfortable and enjoy my flight.
…and my dinner.
Something I had forgotten was that elevation changes on things like a bag of chips causes them to swell to maximum capacity. Hoping to avoid an embarrassing “pop” to resound throughout the cabin, I opened my chips ever so cautiously. I did manage to open them quietly but I forgot how strong a small bag jalapeno chips could smell.
As the aroma of chips began to find the people around me, who of course turned to look, I got a tad bit flustered, forgot what my legs were doing and crossed my knees at the very moment the stewardess walked by and somehow got my foot tangled all up in life preserver/oxygen mask she was carrying.
I was THAT girl.
You may be thinking surely nothing else can happen, but this is me, so everything aforementioned is child’s play compared to my embarrassing grand finale.
There came a time towards the end of Flight 2137 when I realized I was going to have to use the dreaded airplane bathroom. The back of the plane where I was at was relatively empty, passengers were dozing, there was no one in line, it seemed like the perfect time.
I stepped into the bathroom, locked the door and took a moment to marvel at how small airplane bathrooms really are. I fixed my makeup, readjusted the Bobbi pins in my hair and then set forth with my intended mission.
Mission accomplished I started to pull up my jeans. Since the bathroom was SO SMALL I turned to the side to do — meaning my backside was pointed towards the door.
What I didn’t realize in my turning, and the wiggling of pulling up my drawers, my hips had hit the lock on the bathroom door, causing it to no longer be locked.
Suddenly I felt a Tap Tap Tap of the door being shoved quickly three times. You see my hip unlocking the door and me turning to the side meant I had unknowingly been doing my “pull up my jeans wiggle” with my dairy-air hanging out into the open and someone on the other side was trying to save me from anymore indecent exposure.
I whipped around in the airplane bathroom and locked the door with terrified force.
And then I stood there…
In the airplane bathroom…
Staring at my crimson complexion, trying to convince myself what had just happened didn’t really happened.
But it had, and when my face returned it’s normal color I took a breath and opened the door to be greeted by not one, but THREE people in line for the bathroom and the stewardess. All of who immediately began staring at their feet.
Yeah… I was THAT girl.
To add salt to the wound, the person who had been trying to shut the door was the guy who had helped me fix my bag. You know, the one sitting directly behind me.
The rest of the flight I marinated in my shame and managed to avoid any more hiccups.
I was THAT girl.
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