I am always among the first to enter an aircraft—if I am
running on time, that is. That is because I travel so much that I have become a
frequent-frequent flyer. Therefore, in returning from Prague a couple of weeks ago, I sank into my seat on the Lufthansa
Frankfort-San Francisco flight many more minutes before anyone else in the
economy plus cabin. Often, I receive a complimentary upgrade to business class
or first class, but that did not happen this time. So, I entered with all the
business class and first class passengers but trekked down into the main cabin.
As I arranged my pillow, blanket, sweater, books, computer, and purse—certainly
not the way St. Francis would have traveled (I have to work on austerity a bit
more), I noticed the individual television on the seat back in front of me but
found no headset in the pocket. Looking down the row, I noticed that all four
other seats did have headsets, and no one was on board yet.
I was quite tempted to grab the headset in the seat pocket
beside me. That person would never know that s/he initially did have a headset
and I did not. What would it matter really? So, I removed the headset.
Then that little “do-the-right-thing” spirit slapped my hand, and I put the headset back.
Why did I deserve that headset more than the passenger who would be sitting in
that seat? Probably there were spares somewhere, and I could ask the stewardess
for one. However, I have been on a few flights with no spare headsets. So, once
again I eyed that other pocket. By now, all the seats in the row, except for
the one beside me, had been claimed. I decided to read the email on my
Blackberry (this was definitely not a
Franciscan journey) to divert my attention from that headset that now seemed to
be calling my name.
After another ten minutes or so, the stewardess came by to
close the already stuffed overhead bin, and I asked if she happened to have a
spare headset she could bring me when convenient. She wasn’t sure but would
look. It took some time before she reappeared, but she had indeed found a
headset.
A few minutes later, the rest of the passengers had loaded,
and the doors were ready to be closed. Two friends, obviously traveling together,
chatted animatedly as they arranged their bags. One was across the aisle from
me (19B) and one in the seat immediately in front of me (19C). Clearly, once
everyone sat down and the plane started moving, I would be separating them. I
asked the lady in front of me (18C) if she wanted 19C so she could talk to her
friend. She jumped at the opportunity, thanking me heartily, and we both
quickly settled into our new seats. The young man beside me (18D) showed me his
electronic toys, and the plane was ready to depart. We began rolling down the
runway.
At that point, I noticed two things: (1) the young man
beside was mildly ill (Just a cold, hopefully. Where were my Airborne tablets
when I needed them? Oh, right, I had stopped taking them a couple of years ago
because their heavy salt content sent my blood pressure soaring.), and (2) the
passenger in 19D never had shown up. I could have had an empty seat beside me
and an easy, roomy flight. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished!
Nonetheless, there was something about foiling Temptation that left me with a
good feeling that a filled seat beside could not spoil. Besides, why did I
deserve an easy, roomy flight more than the person from 18C?
And so started the
next round of reflective ruminations—ten hours of them, punctuated with eating,
drinking, computering, reading, and, oh, yes, movie watching.
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