THE WORST PLANE RIDE EVER
A Story about traveling from Germany to the USA with an Indian family.
Cheryl and I had been to Germany for a short vacation and to stay in Schloss Waltershausen. It was a really fun trip. We love Germany and we loved the Schloss so much we wanted to buy it. Going home, we flew out of Frankfurt am Main, where the airport ranks close to the top of worse ever.
First off, we were directed to the wrong parking garage with our rented car. After we unloaded the luggage, the attendant insisted we drive to the other garage, and then gave us wrong directions. Time was of the essence, and when I saw that she had actually directed us out of the airport, I made an illegal left turn and drove the wrong way briefly to get to the garage. But we made it. Then we had to get to our gate. This required pushing through crowds of Italians who blocked the entire passage. I took the lead, forcing the people out of the way, but Cheryl fell behind and was almost swallowed by the really rude Italians. She is still angry.
We arrived at our gate just as loading started, and got right on the plane. After a while, everyone was seated, but the door wasn’t closed. The attendant explained they were waiting for late arrivals. In half an hour the late arrivals arrived. A family of Indians; grandma, grandpa, mom, two little kids. These looked like Indians from the country, dressed like Indians from the country, and, unfortunately, smelled like Indians from the country. They did not have seats together, either. Grandma, mom, and two kids sat in the middle section four rows back from us. Grandpa started wandering around the plane looking for his seat.
Grandpa wandered up and down the aisles. The attendant, a very punctual German woman, already distressed at the forced late start, became ever more irritated. She started giving orders to grandpa over the PA system, telling him to take his seat, in German and English, because they could not close the door and start the flight. Grandpa did not understand either language, and continued to wander aimlessly. Eventually, the attendant had to physically seat grandpa. I guess that was verboten because grandpa took great umbrage at being manhandled. The attendant was the larger of the two, however, and grandpa was forced into a seat and buckled up.
Before we could start taxiing to the runway, grandma had to go to the restroom. So, we had to wait again. Those of us sitting along the aisle couldn’t help but notice that grandma’s butt was slightly larger than the isle width. We also couldn’t help but notice a rather fetid odor as she passed. Using an airplane toilet seemed completely unfamiliar to her as well. This included an inability to close the door. Perhaps closing the door just wasn’t necessary back home. Grandma took some time in the toilet, and I thought the attendant might have a seizure. You know the exhaust fan doesn’t come on unless the door is closed, right?
An hour late, we took off. The Indian family was quiet as we gained altitude, but as soon as people unbelted and started into the overhead storage, grandma needed to make her way to the toilet, again. It took her longer to walk up the aisle and we got more benefit from the increased fetid odor. Again, the door closing was an issue, and remarkable odors drifted around the cabin. Grandma had to pause right next to me on the way back. I had to lean over Cheryl to avoid the buttocks and realized grandma did not know what toilet paper was, either. Fetid was no longer descriptive of the odor. For the next eight hours, grandma made her way to the toilet at regular intervals.
On long international flights, passengers usually pass some of the time by sleeping. A couple of hours in, bad food had been served and debris cleaned up, and everyone was settling down…except for the Indians of course. Then the children discovered the button that rang the bell for an attendant. This was great fun, and mom and grandma either didn’t connect the bell tone with the children pushing the button, or they were very forbearing. The bell ringing went on and on, and finally an attendant came down to try to stop the action. Actually, the attendant had to come repeatedly since the Indians did not understand any known language. Eventually, the attendant apparently found a translation book and was able to convey to the family that the bell ringing must stop or they would be thrown off the aircraft.
At some point I was awakened from a fitful doze by an overwhelming reek of curry. The Indians had brought their own snack. I have never liked curry since. Grandma had to make even more frequent trips to the open door toilet after the snack, and the accompanying odors cannot be described. The air was becoming thick and hazy. I was reminded of that part of the book ‘Das Boot’ where the submarine was stuck on the bottom of the Straights of Gibraltar for a couple of days and accumulated the stink of 50 men in a small steel tube. I wondered what would happen if I pulled down the oxygen mask. I think that is exactly what the attendants were doing in the back of the plane since they had basically quit being attendants.
Well, all adventures come to an end. We finally glided into Atlanta and cleaner air. Most of the passengers were green or passed out by now, but the opening of the cabin door did wonders. I must say, I have never seen a plane empty out so quickly. As our large group headed for customs we tried to ignore the sidelong looks of people passing us in the concourse. I felt pity for the next passenger that had to sit in grandma’s seat.
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