I am not sure when airline flights became more than just a speedy way to get from one place to another. I apparently missed that memo. But trust me: If my summer travel experiences are any indication, travel is just one of the things that people seek to do these days while flying the friendly skies.
I have taken four airline trips over the last two months, all on Southwest Airlines, that no-frills (yet cheap and relatively on time) airline with the seating philosophy of cattle herders. I find this philosophy endlessly hilarious: We'll throw you on the plane in groups of 30 and let the chaos unfold.
Southwest's open seating policy leads to some really interesting human behavior. The airline starts handing out those festively colored boarding passes one hour before the plane is scheduled to leave, but many people arrive at the gate before that. Many of these passengers, who want more than anything to get in that 1-30 boarding group, stare longingly at the check-in counter, waiting for any sign of activity. Then, about 23 minutes before that one-hour mark, some bozo will go up and stand near the counter, officially starting a line. Then, another person will get behind him/her, and before you know it, people are rushing to get in line, like paranoid cows spooked by thunder. Then, for 22 minutes, the people stand in line, mentally mooing to themselves until the Southwest employee arrives to dispense the valuable boarding passes.
I must admit that I have been part of these airline passenger stampedes more than once. And there is nothing more annoying than arriving two hours early, stampeding into line a bit tardy and getting boarding pass No. 31 -- which is just as good, for boarding purposes, as No. 60. This happened to me once this summer, and I almost lost it completely. After deciding that stuffing the Southwest employee into the carry-on baggage sizer would be a bad idea, I sat down and pouted.
While I admit that I am just like every other dweeb when it comes to lining up like cattle, I am somewhat different from others in the respect that I actually fly to get somewhere, not to engage in any sort of gender relations.
Here's what in the heck I am talking about: Last Wednesday, I flew to Portland, Ore. for a wedding. I took a window seat, and two late-20s-ish women sat in the two seats next to me. They were chattering about their singleness when down the aisle walked a tall, handsome, buff marine in full uniform. He was one of the last passengers to get on the plane, and seats were filling up fast. Sensing some sort of odd opportunity, the woman on the aisle saw him looking for a seat, patted her lap and shouted, "HEY, SIT RIGHT HERE!"
People laughed. I laughed, figuring the Marine somehow knew the woman. But the awkward, embarrassed smile and the lack of a reply from him indicated that he did not. Instead, he took a remaining aisle seat two rows ahead of us. The woman, her lap unoccupied, then muttered: "Where the heck were you last night?"
Wow.
This event was superseded in weirdness on my return flight from Portland. I first noticed something was up when I saw a young man whispering something to two flight attendants at the front of the plane before the airliner started to taxi to the runway. Soon, as the plane lurched into reverse, a flight attendant told us all the man had a question to ask. The man walked down the aisle, got down on one knee in front of a female passenger and opened a ring box as the flight attendant asked, over the loud speaker, if the befuddled woman would marry the man.
Thankfully, she said yes. If she would have had to think about it, I fear that our flight would have been delayed indefinitely.
This incident begs the question: WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD A MAN ASK A WOMAN TO GET MARRIED ON A SOUTHWEST FLIGHT? This makes no sense, unless they met by happenstance on some previous flight (which is possible, as the cramped seating does allow passengers to get intimate with each other, usually unintentionally). I'll be pondering this for quite some time.
Fortunately, I'll have some time to ponder this, as I have no airplane trips planned in the near future. I'll be sticking to automobiles for now, where I don't have to worry about horny women propositioning shocked Marines in my car. That is, unless I want to.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth generation Nevadan who is sick and tired of eating peanuts. His column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.