Dutch Courage

I took a flight to San Jose earlier today and originally this was going to be a mildly humorous post about the minor mishaps I had getting to my flight, but that can wait for another time. I seem to be always dashing around airports and gates - there is got be a blog in all those near misses.

Anyway, our flight boarded relatively early for a commuter flight, but as we were getting ready to leave, one more guy joined us and occupied the seat across the aisle from me. What struck me immediately was the smell of alcohol coming off of him. He was dressed quite well - suit, overcoat, and a top hat, but seemed a little fidgety. I put it down to the drink. I focused on my magazine and didn't pay him much attention. After take off, he had a murmured conversation with the flight attendant who then brought him some vodka. I overheard him say that he had flown from NY to Chicago, Chicago to SD, and now SD to San Jose.

I was listening to some podcasts for most of the flight and didn't really look much at our friend. I did notice that he got another little bottle of vodka just before we started coming in. I had to switch everything off for the approach and it registered on me that the flight was coming down quite rapidly and that made me a little queasy. Apparently that was nothing compared to what was happening to the guy across the aisle. Something was clearly bothering him - his eyes were screwed shut and he seemed to be fighting something down. Occasionally he would puff as if to work through some pain. Sometimes he would violently shake his hands and other times he seemed to be fighting down something welling up in his throat. I was fairly convinced that the guy was going to hurl. Seeing him struggle, I was wondering whether I should offer him the barf-bag - surely he knew about it? He was so close to me that I was sure I was going to get the brunt of it if he did puke.

His mannerisms got increasingly panicky and didn't really stop even after we landed. I saw him scrounging around his coat pocket for something - probably something to throw up into, I was convinced. I kept glancing at him (mostly to be prepared when he decided to hurl) and as we were taxiing in, he was still clearly unhappy. I realized he had noticed my glances when he suddenly looked my way and said, "Sorry about all that, I am just not a good flyer, especially in such a small plane." That explained a lot - what we had been seeing were near-panic attacks.

Silence followed and I felt compelled to ask, "Do you just get nervous during take-offs and landings?" No, he said, it is pretty much the whole flight, especially in such a tiny cabin. Then he added, "My fiance and her daughter were killed in a plane crash last year. Since then it is hard for me to fly." I didn't know what to say. He took out a picture of a kid, kissed it, and put it back in his wallet.
Eventually the door was opened and he sprang up to leave - I let him go ahead since he clearly had a more urgent need to be off that plane. As we were leaving, the cockpit door was open. He walked up to the door, reached into his coat pocket and took out some money. I was thinking, is he going to tip the flight attendant who helped him with the drinks? He wasn't. Instead, he reached into the cockpit and handed the money to the pilot with the words, "Pilot, thanks for bring us in safely. Have a drink on me." So much for first impressions.