Connecting Flight

Bound for LA, I made a connecting flight in Dallas/Ft. Worth. It appeared every Alabama and Texas fan going to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena was on my flight. Loud, lively, and colorful they all sported crimson or clay-orange jerseys and hats with Roll Tide or the head of a longhorn steer. Grown men taunted each other as they made their way down the aisle or told jokes aloud about the other team as they crammed their carry on bags into the overhead compartment. I was seated next to a Texas family who didn't buy their tickets on the same row or even across the aisle from one another, so they decided a little screaming back-and-forth never hurt anybody. Screaming was the mood of the plane. The baby one aisle up was tired (her mom's words), so she cried the entire flight. She cried as though all the bottles in the world had gone bye-bye. Her parents looked worn and frustrated as they tried endlessly to comfort her. The mother laid her on the floor in front of their seats at one point and she seemed at peace for about five minutes. Well, until the flight attendant decided that wasn't the best place for their baby and reminded them on the descent she would need to be strapped into her seat. Reluctantly the mother tried moving her again. The shrill sound of her cry commanded every one's attention on the plane. The flight attendant's asked if their was anything they could do but the parents seem adamant that this was as good as it gets. In the meantime, the two family members seated next to me were a little girl (7 or 8) and her mother. The little girl had fallen asleep while the baby was lying on the floor. Once the baby started her second act in a high-pitched tone, she woke up. Her mom had gone to the bathroom, so she was looking around wild-eyed wondering where her mother was. She kicked the back of her sister's seat crying for her mom, her sister told her that their mom would be back shortly from the bathroom. Her sister was playing her Nintendo DS, so she didn't connect the dots that her little sister was a bit distraught. She started to moan louder for her mom and yelled that she didn't feel well. The child's father (three rows up) heard her and made his way down the aisle. He assessed the situation and also stressed to the upset child that her mother would be back from the bathroom soon. He made his way back with the other Texas men and they continued to enjoy cocktails and tall tales of football games from the good ol' days. The little girl was both emotionally and physically sick. "Hannah!" she yelled to her older sister, as she tried to poke her through the space in the seat. Hannah got up, turned around, looked over the seat and told her to calm down. The little girl moaned and cried even louder. The baby cried louder. The plane engines roared louder. The fans laughed and talked louder. The little girl kicked her sister's seat again, the sister ignored her. She unbuckled her seatbelt, stumbled over me and went to find her mom. The older sister yelled for her Dad, who didn't seem to be bothered by his child's crying. The little girl and her mom returned within a couple minutes. The daughter was hysterical and announced her stomach hurt. She cried harder, she choked and she gagged. The mom yelled for the Dad and searched frantically in the seatback pocket for the throw-up bags. She barely opened the bag before her daughter threw up her last meal. The baby cried louder. The engines roared louder. The fans gabbed louder. The mom yelled for the father to go get napkins. I grabbed my emergency bag and those around us gave napkins and their bags as well. She threw up a few times. The father returned after most of the action had finished. I was trying to collect myself from having a gag reflex. He had napkins and wet towels. The mother shot him a look of disappointment and told him he acted like he didn't know how to take care of kids. He blamed it on the flight attendants and stressed that the one woman was too busy doing her nails. She looked at him and shook her head. I assumed he felt it was all the flight attendant's fault because he buzzed her over to his seat. The daughter continued to cry and gag, the baby cried louder, the fans talked louder, and the engines churned louder. The man and the flight attendant(s) got into an argument about their lack of attention to his napkin request. The mom yelled at the father to take it down a notch and to let it go. He turned red in the face as he tried to get his point across to the entire plane and the flight attendant crew. Other passengers stared or pretened not to notice the whole argument. The wife yelled again to let it go. The daughter's cry became softer, the baby across the aisle stopped screaming, the pilot announced we were preparing for landing. The flight attendants made their last round and asked the family if they needed anything else for their daughter. The mother handed me the large plastic bag full of throw-up bags to give to the flight attendant. I know I felt something wet on my hand, I wanted to hurl. I maintained and kept it together. The mother explained to me that "this" daughter was her throw-up baby...she gets excited, sick or whatever and just throws up. We discussed throwing up as we made our descent into LA. The little girl rested her head back and announced that she felt better. The baby fell asleep in her Dad's arms. The fans prepared for landing. And the plane glided in smoothly. Despite the drama, the flight arrived early. I would claim my baggage and make my 11:00pm bus. I was determined to save the $23 and only spend the $4 on the bus. I raced to the baggage claim area. The luggage arrived quickly, it went round and round, however, no suitcase for me appeared. Several people stood there in sadness looking for their bags. I noticed the Texas family had their suitcases and looked happy. I made my way over to the airline's baggage claim service desk along with about 15 other people. Thirty minutes later it was my turn and she assured me it would be on the next flight that just arrived from Dallas. It's past 11:00 at this point and I'm pissed that I missed my bus. Plus my mind and body were on east coast time, I had a headache from all the crying, my ears hadn't popped and I was hungry. I shuffled back over to the baggage carousel and waited for more luggage to appear. Boxes, red suitcases, and black ones with no orange ribbon. The bags came and went. There was no black suitcase with an orange ribbon. One more time I joined the line of people with baggage issues. The guy behind me described the situation as purgatory. There were a lot of impatient people, not enough help behind the desk, and too many missing bags. Tempers flared and people argued. Thirty more minutes passed by and I was back in front of the line. We discussed my issue again and the computer system revealed that my suitcase had indeed arrived at LAX. He asked me to follow him to another section. The section where all the missing suitcases meet up, it was a forest made up of only suitcases and bags. We searched and searched, and there alone in the corner was my black suitcase with an orange ribbon. Way past midnight, I drug my suitcase out to curbside and spent $23 on a shuttle van made up of Alabama and Texas fans. The driver piled our luggage into the back and slammed the doors shut. We all headed quitely down the 405 to our final destinations.