Dear Awful Human Being On My Flight Yesterday,

You and I got off on the wrong foot, and things just got worse. The thing that first alerted me to your status as a complete and total donkey was when our pilot walked by us as we sat at the gate waiting for the plane to be ready and you said, “Oooohhh… Lady Pilot. Lucky us.” Strike one. Here’s the thing: She’s not a ‘lady pilot’; she’s a pilot. She went to flight school like every other pilot, she did the requisite simulator hours like every other pilot, and she earned that silly hat like every other pilot. You only need to call her Lady Pilot if she’s of noble birth from the House of Pilot in the Kingdom of Aviation. You misogynist jerk.

Now, on to the offense that had me genuinely contemplating physically assaulting you. See, as we sat at the gate waiting for the plane to be ready and you were denigrating women, this little kid kinda stumbles near me being fussed over by his mom who is, single handedly, trying to wrangle a toddler, handle a diaper bag, a stroller, find some toy that the kid was absolutely going to die if he didn’t have right this second oh my god look at this other thing what toy, and make sure that she actually had the tickets required to board the airplane. The little dude plops down on his butt in that easy way only toddlers and extremely drunk people can do and proceeds to take off one of his shoes. Because, you know, he can. His mom sits down a few seats away from me with an audible sigh as her little companion starts intently staring at me in that way only toddlers and extremely drunk people can. Hard as it will be for some of you to believe, I genuinely love kids. All the awful crap in the world hasn’t jaded them yet and they haven’t had to go through all the pain and suffering adults have to go through to fully appreciate love and beauty. To kids, the world just is love and beauty. And Goldfish crackers.

I do what I do in these situations. I strike up a conversation with a toddler.

Eli: Hi. How are you this morning?

Toddler: *big smile*

E: I’m Eli, what’s your name?

Toddler’s Mother: This is Henry. Can you say hello, Henry?

Henry: GOLDFISH!

At this point I should tell you that Henry is a pretty cute little dude. Also, he was wearing a Spider-Man tee shirt and a Cubs hat. I kinda fell in love with the kid.

E: Nice to meet you Henry. I like goldfish too!

H: *gurgle gurgle Toddler/Extremely Drunk Person noises*

E: Hank, I like your style. That is a nice lid you’ve got there.

Henry’s Mom: His grandpa is a huge Cubbies fan.

E: Smart man.

H: GOLDFISH!

Henry toddled back over to his mother for some goldfish. And seemed quite content for a while. I got on my phone and tweeted about how much of a jerk you were, Awful Human Being On My Flight Yesterday. I opened a travel sized pack of those Famous Amos chocolate cookies that you’ll find in every airport ever. Before I even had taken one out of the package I felt a tug on my knee.

H: GOLDFISH!

E: Well, actually, they’re cookies.

H: OOKIES!

H’s M: Henry, let the man eat. Come over here!

H: GOLDFISH! OOKIES!

E: (to H’s Mom) He can have one if you don’t mind. I’ll share cookies with anyone wearing a Spider-Man shirt and a Cubs hat.

H: *thrusts his wrist forward in an awkward pose* FWIP!

Gang, I bonded with that kid right then and there. Cubs fan? Check. Goldfish fan? Check. Two years old and already able to act like he’s Spider-Man by shooting imaginary webs from his hands?! Fan. Checking. Tastic!

H’s M: I dunno, it’s awful early in the morning for chocolate.

H: (randomly shooting things now) FWIP! FWIP! FWIP!

E: (to H’s Mom) If you can say no to that your heart is made of stone.

H’s M: *smile* *blush* Okay. Henry, you can have one cookie.

H: OOKIE!

I handed him one of the miniature cookies and Hank proceeded to do that thing toddlers and extremely drunk people do to food that you can’t really call eating. A short while later the Gate Attendant offered for parents of small kids to board ahead of the rest of us. Henry’s mom gathered the diaper bag, the stroller, found some toy that the kid was absolutely going to die if he didn’t have right this second oh my god look at this other thing what toy, and made sure that she actually had the tickets required to board the airplane and was off. I played on my phone for a little bit and started mentally writing an entry for this blog about how incredibly stupid it is that airlines don’t board their planes from the outside/back to the inside/front. Maybe later. My zone is called and I get up to board the plane. I notice the little shoe on the ground and think that Henry is probably going to need it at some point. As I board the plane I passed Henry and his mother and handed her the missing shoe. The look on her face was priceless. She looked at the shoe, looked at Henry’s feet, looked back at the shoe and took it with some wonderment as to how on Earth her child had not only taken a shoe off without her seeing it, but also how she hadn’t noticed that he still wasn’t wearing it. I was amused.

And, of course, you were seated next to me AHBOMFY. Joy. The main cabin doors were closed and we began take off procedures. We were to be in the air for just over an hour. You almost didn’t make it to Charlotte. You decided that complaining about a toddler, my new BFF, and generally being the awful person I’ve named you to be was a good idea. It was not. The truth is, most kids freak out in airplanes. It’s totally understandable and if you have an ounce of compassion or empathy in your body you’ll accept it and feel bad for the little folk. Think about it for a second: They close that door and the whole world gets creepy. There are cranky strangers every where, the seat is uncomfortable, there’s all kinds of weird sounds coming from absolutely everywhere, and that guy that watches too much Jersey Shore smells like he was dipped into a vat of Axe Body Spray. Then, as we gain altitude, the pressure starts changing dramatically and your head feels all funny and probably hurts like you wouldn’t believe if you’re not used to it.

Henry began to cry.

“Oh great. A crying kid. Lord, help me.”

Rage face.

Luckily for you, I was on a work trip. Otherwise I’d have cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war.

Henry continued to cry.

“I can’t believe that kid’s mom isn’t shutting him up.”

Oh. Hell. No.

I looked at you. I hope you felt the daggers. I’ve gotten good at measured responses lately so I’m quite proud of what happened next.

“Excuse me, would you mind if we put down the arm rest?” Without waiting for a response I brought it down on your arm. I’m sure it didn’t hurt, but it seemed to have startled you into shutting up for a bit.

There were a few more instances of similar awfulness and each time I had a cutting remark locked and loaded. Each time I reminded myself that I was on a work trip and that, even though it would have felt soooooo good, publicly shaming you probably would not have helped the situation. I’ve worked hard to let go of the rage. I don’t want to let it back in.

But.

I promise you, Awful Human Being On My Flight Yesterday, next time I will let loose with all the fury of God’s Own Thunder. Hank was an awesome kid. You are an awful person. I’ll not have you disparage him or his ilk again, work trip or not.

Love (to Henry),

Elijah