Stuck in a bad (and mysterious) flight delay, why not blog about my first flight?
It was a Delta flight to Atlanta, circa 1970. I was eleven. I wore a hand-me-down dress from my sister of blue and orange stripes, sleeveless, with a matching scarf. I don’t remember if there was security then. For a kid used to car trips to Atlanta, where we visited relatives at least once a year, it’s sheer heaven.
I’ve just finished proofing my next book and there are three chapters that center on air travel. I worried that I was becoming like a stand-up comedian who was cut off from “normal” life and thus reduced to talking about something that’s a staple of my life. But one of the characters is a flight attendant, so that’s earned. And the other chapter centers on a middle-aged man who’s recalling his first flight, at age 20, and wondering at the fact that his own son has been on at least twenty flights and he’s only a junior in high school.
Memories of first flight, in the comments? Or just great travel stories? The fact is, I’ve been a remarkably lucky traveler for much of my life. Never slept in an airport, for example. Recently, my family had cause to remember a travel delay that forced us to spend the night in Minneapolis before going on to Honolulu, but the fact is — we really do have fond memories of the dinner we ate at Chili’s, with vouchers.
Oh, I’ve also been stuck in Guatemala City for a night. Stranded one night near LaGuardia when there was a problem with a ticket purchased for me by a third party. (I read Scruples and ate Peanut M&M’s for dinner.)
Then again, maybe one weathers travel delays more philosophically when that person remembers taking a 20-hour bus ride to her first job interview. Hey, I got the job.