The Wave

I spent almost all of Labor Day weekend in Omaha, NE for a wedding.  It was great fun.  My first time in Omaha.  I'll dive into the drinking and facebook statuses and food and dancing and fanciness in another post.  However, one of those wonderfully awkward moments happened at the airport on the way home.

On the last day that Annie and I were in Omaha, we were eating lunch with the bride and groom and the groom's brother and girlfriend, and some other peeps.  The groom's brother and I realized that we were taking the same shuttle from the hotel to the airport.  Ha.  That's funny.  We're like the same people.  (Except they were heading back home to Brooklyn, and we were flying to San Francisco.)

But then we asked what flight they were taking, and we pieced together that we were actually taking the exact same flight out of Omaha.  We had a layover in Chicago (yeah, look at a map, Southwest), and they had the same one.  We also learned that the groom's father was going to be on the flight with us.  Look how cute we are!

So, we all get to the airport.  Annie and I apparently run through the airport, because we were through security and at our gate in a few minutes.  (By the way, Omaha is the emptiest airport I've ever seen in my life.  It was almost creepy.  The TSA agents were lonely and wanted to be our friends.)  We sat down at our gate, and we ran into the groom's father within a few minutes.  We wondered how the groom's brother and sister had gotten so far behind us, which led Annie and I to realize just how quickly we move through airports these days.

There was also one last kicker we discovered.  For those that have never flown Southwest, it has open seating, and you just walk on in the order that you checked in.  For the flight to Chicago, the order we were in line was:
A40 - Groom's Dad
A41 - ~RoB
A42 - Annie
A43 - Groom's Brother
A44 - Groom's Brother's Girlfriend.
One big happy family.  Though it is half true to say that it all happened by chance, we were on the same schedule forcing us to check in after the wedding reception, so it's not too surprising.  Yet, why is it so difficult to make this happen when you actually try?

Anyway, I took off to the bathroom and to fill up my TSA-emptied water bottle.  Upon coming out and walking in front of my departure gate, I looked toward the hallway leading from security.  I saw the groom's brother finally coming through and he waved.  That's fun.  I waved back.  Then I turned to continue my way to my seat, and I realized the groom's dad was behind me.  I hadn't just been waved at.  Yet, there was no mistake in my 'standing in an empty airport terminal waving wildly at, what turns out to be, nobody' wave.  Awesome.  Why am I so awkward?

I mean, I totally understand.  I had just met the groom's father this weekend and I absolutely loved him.  He was kind and smart and nice and always smiling.  I'd enthusiastically wave at him on sight if he was my dad.  Especially if we didn't see each other often and we got to spend most of the rest of the day together.  Me on the other hand, I'd only wave at me if I had to.  (Most people have to, when I awkwardly wave at them across BART cars and public venues, lest they look foolish.  By most people I mean Annie.  I usually wave like a toddler, too.)

Not exactly related, but the same feeling.

Suddenly we all got our hands up...
~RoB

Customers of Size

You're sitting in your seat, waiting to pull back from the gate, and depart.  The plane door is about to be closed and locked by the flight attendant.  The flight is 98% booked, but you managed to keep the middle seat next to you vacant by giving people the crazy eye.  The last person to board, whom you've all been waiting for, finally lumbers onto the plane.  They are huge: walking with a cane, sweaty, a belly button peeking out the bottom of a greasy tshirt, unkempt hair, rolling an oxygen tank, the whole shi-bang.  You know they're coming to sit next to you, with their clammy arms rubbing up against yours as you passive-aggressively fight for the armrest for the next 4 hours.  There's gotta be one other seat open.  Please god, let them find that other seat!

But there's a problem.  The sasquatch handed the flight attendant some sort of ticket-looking slip of paper.  WTF?  Sit down so we can leave!  The flight attendant has an "Oh, fuck" look on their face.  They grab the mic and announce "Please raise your hand if you have an open seat next to you."  It turns out that the water buffalo actually purchased 2 seats, per the company's Customers of Size Policy.  One of us who had rightfully won an empty seat next to us was going to have to move so that the land walrus could sit in 2 adjacent seats.

I've always wondered how they worded that.  They obviously couldn't have a FAQ section responding to "What if I'm too fat to fit between the armrests (a mere 17 inch width)?".  So, I guess that's their politically correct term for larger people: Customers of Size.  I happened upon the "Customers of Size Policy" on Southwest.com while I was trying to book my reward flights yesterday.  For some reason, Customers of Size gives me a mental image of a bigger African American lady with ginormous boobs.

Like this, but not that big.

One time at Cedar Point, I had a very difficult time fastening the safety belt across my lap on the Millennium Force.  I had to switch my wallet from my front pocket to my back, and I was able to pull it off.  However, the 30 seconds (felt like an hour) leading up to that decision was so embarrassing.  I was positive they were going to have to tell me that I was too big to ride the roller coaster.  I was mortified, even though things worked out.  I almost decided to permanently keep my wallet in my back pocket, though I didn't make that switch, cuz it belongs up front with the rest of the bulges.  That's been my only experience being a 'Customer of Size' and it was horrifying.  I wasn't even that fat at the time (at least, not my fattest).

Oh man, Annie reminded me of yet another time when this happened.  *Ding*  I hadn't noticed that the call light was on, but the nice-looking, middle-aged flight attendant with a Georgian drawl walked up and asked me what I needed.
F.A: "What do you need right now, sweetie?"
Me: "Ummm, nothing?"
F.A: "Then why did you push the call button."
Me: "I didn't.  But, I think my seats broken.  It won't stay up."
She reached down next to my leg to turn off the call button.  Then we all (Annie was there, too) realized what had happened.  My thick thigh had pushed both the call button and the seat reclining button.  I smirked and moved my wallet to the other front pocket.  (I always blame it on the wallet.)

Hopes to never have to buy 2 seats,
~RoB