In a Blizzard

Chicago welcomed me back with a blizzard. Instead of going down in a blaze of glory, I came home in a blaze of snow. I kind of felt like a blaze myself. I was a blaze of Molly. As a result, I am now exhausted. Being a blaze of yourself takes a lot out of you. I've been trying not to indulge in the binge eating that I subconsciously will restore all of my burnt out energy.

And now what you've all been waiting for:

Why I'll Never Sit in the Emergency Row Again.

If Chicago missed me enough to welcome me back with a blizzard, New Orleans missed me enough to welcome me back with a rain storm. The day just did not start off right. The day started off a little if-y. I got to the airport with enough time to get checked in, grab a bite to eat and get to my gate. I had taken careful precaution to pack my suitcase so that it was not obviously overweight, since it would cost an additional 40 bucks had it been overweight. I put it on the scale, and there it was, my worst nightmare: 50.5 lbs. A half pound overweight. Thank goodness the girl behind the counter had the presence of mind to adjust the scale, and save me $40 I didn't have to spend.

I got to my gate. And waited. And waited. And waited. I had to reschedule my connecting flight to New Orleans because there was no way I was going to make it. "Is the emergency row ok?" the man behind the ticket counter asked. "Sure, sure, no problem," I answered.

After sitting on the runway for about another hour, we finally made it to Atlanta. My flight to New Orleans was delayed. I ate a cheeseburger and talked to the people waiting next to me. Finally, we were able to start boarding. And then we sat on the runway and waited another hour.

"You realize that you are in the emergency row?" The flight attendant asked. "You are familiar with the procedures and are willing and able to perform the duties required?" After we all agreed, he walked away. No one looked at the flyer. Finally, I couldn't stand it any more. I had to look at the flyer. I never do because I know how to fly. This was my first time in the emergency row. It seemed easy enough. I put my head back, and fell asleep.

Up in the air, the first 45 minutes were smooth sailing. I woke up at snack time and read my book. The turbulence started out gradually, and I was unalarmed. And then it started bobbing so uncontrollably that my stomach started queasing, and I had to put my book down. I watched the plane drop in the front and move from side to side. It felt like a child's play toy that was being jerked from side to side. At any minute, I fully expected the forces that held the craft in the air to disappear.

"It's ok," I told myself. "I read a book about a plane crash in junior high. I've totally got this. I'll be okay. I'll just call 911."

And then, "Oh my God. What if we land in a swamp? Alligators? There's no solid ground. I'm going to be the first one to go." I was breathing hard. I started forming a plan in my head about what to do first. Then I decided that was stupid. I would have to wait and scope out the scenario before I could really formulate the plan. Which stressed me even more. Finally, I just prayed myself through it, and reminded myself, while bolts of lightning flashed next to the window, that the pilot had been trained to deal with situations such as this.

The difference between flying in Europe and flying in America is this: After the plane touches down in Europe, everyone bursts out in applause for the pilot bringing it safely to the ground. In America, everyone immediately whips out their Blackberries with the "what took so long" attitude, and begins to strategize who they can climb over to immediately exit the plane. After a flight like that, the pilot certainly deserved a round of applause. Tests have shown that individuals will rarely go against the crowd, even if they know the crowd was wrong. I am ashamed to admit that I did not initiate a round of applause for that wonderful pilot who made it possible for me to decide that I will never ever sit in the emergency row ever again.