Peak Petty

I think, by and large, we can all agree: holy tits, red-eyes suck. Honestly, after the one I flew last night, the only conclusion I could make is that there needs to be some sort of Agreement of Basic Consideration of Others we all sign before being allowed to purchase our tickets, right before clicking the “I’m not a robot” box. Because goddamn people, some of y’all are awful. Loud, rude, unshowered, coughing disgusting coughs without covering your mouth. Leaving the blindingly bright light above your seat ON. This flight is ungodly enough, why are some of you seemingly intentionally making it worse for the rest of us?

But maybe it’s just me. Maybe. To be fair, more and more lately, I find myself annoyed by everything. Hating people who make phone calls or play music *on speakerphone* on mass transit or other enclosed spaces. Yelling at drivers who nearly run me over when I have the right of way. Cursing anyone who doesn’t use blinkers or appropriate signals. Sighing at customers who seriously, seriously, stare impatiently at me while I’m serving others, then when I go over to them, they have no idea what they even want yet. Wanting to pull my hair out at pedestrians who can’t grasp that in NYC we walk to the right on the sidewalk, and if you’re in a group, *you* move over for people walking in the other direction.

And so on.

Because I could go on, but I’m really not prepared to see the full scope of my pet peeves listed out in black and white.

You may have noticed the majority of my list of grievances revolves around the road, drivers, walkers. Because, oddly enough, it was me making the switch from lifelong NY pedestrian into daily commuting biker to really start noticing shit. Namely, the shitty things, the worst being how little consideration and awareness people have for anyone else but themselves.

It didn’t used to be so bad, I’ll say that. In my teens and very early 20’s, when I was still pedestrianing and subwaying, the MTA was still functioning and dependable, people seemed happy, and walking around the streets was enjoyable. Even *I* was relaxed then. But then, when I switched to biking at 24, my whole perspective shifted. I remember distinctly, after 2 full years of this new means of transport, I made a wish for 2012, instead of a new year’s resolution (because that’s how it works, right): for people to get their awareness back. I crossed my fingers and held my breath, hoping 2013 would bring sanity back, bring people paying attention back, bring people being considerate and looking before they did things back.

Based on how this piece opened, I think you can guess how that panned out.

And I would think, in 2013, and even more so now, when boggled by the latest idiot not paying attention: has the city gotten this bad? Are people just getting shittier? Or, recently, and perhaps worst of all: am I turning into a boomer?

Fuck me, I don’t know. Maybe it just happened to work out that as I aged, the world shifted, too. That during my 20’s the world really was better, happier: social media wasn’t really there yet - no one was instagramming, Twitter was barely a thing, the MTA worked, no one had lost everything or worse in the recession, and no one had to go into debt to go back to school to maybe, maybe, get a job after months of being laid off. And that now, half-way into my 30’s, it’s… now. So maybe this low-level hum of rage isn’t my age at all, it’s just society going to fucking shit and me being painfully aware of it. Or maybe, I’m just turning into a cantankerous old cunt, and like the planet melting, it’s happening faster than any of us are ready for.

So what inspired me to write this, now, today? From the sound of it, I have remained at this level of intensity since I was 26 years old, so, why the delay of this masterpiece?

Well, dear friends, because of the goddamn red-eye flight.

Like I said, they’re always hellish, but something happened on this particular flight that made me snap.

The usual stuff I was braced and ready for, and sure enough, it was there to meet us at the gate. The impatient crush to get on. The family with four kids, all under 5, all of whom were crying. The freeballing coughs through layers and stalagmites of phlegm from the old man a couple rows back. The Chinese tourists sitting behind us that didn’t shut up or stop kicking and digging around the backs of our chairs for a single minute.

But what did me in, and most infuriatingly, was: the empty seat.

Ah yes, the elusive empty seat in your row. That wonderful surprise neither I nor my boyfriend ever, ever would have expected on a flight in general, but certainly not on one back to NYC. But there it was. The aisle seat of our row. Gate closed, we were all seat-buckled in, and the plane was off to the runway, 20 minutes ahead of schedule. We were reveling in the joy of not having to squeeze past someone to pee, and how glad we were to have sacrificed the extra $150 for this row, the one with extra leg room, because now: boom, this seat.

Fast forward a sleepy-eyed 15 minutes, I look over to see the flight staff coming around with water and snacks. And then…a hand, in between the attendant and my boyfriend, shoots out and snatches a pack of pretzels from the held-out box, and I am confused. I jolt to fully-awake, I lean forward, and I see a hooded figure seating in the aisle seat. The EMPTY aisle seat is no longer empty. I frown. Did a little kid move up here or something? But when I look over, no. It wasn’t a kid. Not an old person, not a handicapped person, not a person with a leg cast or ankle brace that needed leg room. Not even a sick person who needed proximity to the restroom. No. ‘Twas one of the women from the row behind us who decided - not asked, and not paid extra for - to sit herself there. So she can be more comfortable. Her now-former row has an empty seat, and now her two friends get the exact luxury my boyfriend and I were looking forward to having.

I was LIVID.

Because first of all, what the fuck? We have to pay extra for these seats, but you just get to leave your less-expensive seat and take this one, without even asking? And now your friends get to spread out over their whole row? Because fuck whoever might have been looking forward to having extra space for themselves, right? Fuck them wanting to get up to use the bathroom without the obstacle of climbing over someone else. Because why would you ever waste a second even maybe considering that? Because nah boo, it’s your world, your comfort, and everyone else is just background, right?

Now, I understand my anger is probably totally unwarranted and even, say, ridiculous. “What if she has a bad knee, Elena?” you might suggest. “What if she was sitting next to her mother-in-law and she hates her?” “What if she struggled to immigrate from China after a hard life of oppression?” “What if-“ See, now that’s the thing, right, empathy? Trying to understand why someone might do something, something that’s annoying or a hindrance or inconveniences you? But after living in NYC, man, I’m tired of trying to explain away people being selfish. I’m tired of always being the one to hold doors, move out of the way, notice you’re coming and give you space, make up a story in my head as to why you could possibly be moving furniture for an hour at 1 in the morning. I’m tired of seeing people do whatever the fuck they want because they want to, or because they’re too oblivious to care, and you’re the one who’s left being pissed while everyone else is sagely telling you with a shaking head, “gotta let that shit slide, Elena.”

No, I say, because you know why? I fucking can’t. I can’t let it slide. I try over and over and over, and I fucking can’t. Because there is no fucking excuse. Because if I can manage to be a decent person, or at least try to be a decent person on one of my shitty days, why can’t everyone else? And if I can at least make up a reason in my mind to justify the level of dickishness of someone I cross paths with, then why can’t they seem to do the same for me when I have to keep nudging their goddamn hands off the tiny piece of pole space I have on the subway when they have allllll the space in the world above theirs? WHY? GOD.

So, this lady on the plane. I’m still sitting, still seething. Her dumb friends are *still* managing to be loud and fidgety behind me. Everytime the goddamn attendant comes around, they’re in a tizzy all over again, pissing themselves with loud conversation over goddamn cups of water. I’m pissed for my boyfriend being so nice about it, even though I know he was reeeeeally looking forward to that empty seat - he must have checked the seat plan at least 8 times to see if it would stay empty for the flight. I’m pissed because she’s sleeping, and I’m here awake. I’m pissed because what the fuck is the point of paying extra when someone else can slide into the same seat without even asking?

It was at this point I really started to feel hopeless about myself. God, I think, I’m fucking awful. So angry, right, and over what, in the grand scheme? This, this is my big problem? This is the thing that mars a flight home? This is the thing that’s going to consume me with angry-stress? I can see myself, an 89 year old witch lady with deep eyebrow wrinkles and an unkempt yard who screams at kids. And it sucks, really. Yet I knew I wasn’t going to get past this just doing nothing. I also wasn’t going to talk to an attendant and start a thing on a red eye flight. I wasn’t going to be that Karen. So what did I do?

I decided to be petty. The pettiest of the petty moves, is what I chose. I scheduled a bathroom break, every 20 minutes. And further petty still, I convinced my boyfriend to do the same.

Because fuck you. You and your friends gonna take the lap of luxury for yourselves, without a blink of concern for anyone around you, or thinking that it might possibly be a bother to someone? Fine. Then Imma take that cushy sleep you thought you were gonna get, I’m gonna stroll back and forth in that extra legroom you thought you’d stretch in to for the whole flight, and I will keep waking you up to “go”. I won’t even have to pee. Oh, I won’t be in there long. I’ll let those who have to go, go first. Better for me, maybe I’ll catch you *just* as she starts to doze off--

Ugh. See, there I go again.

In truth, this lady was probably a fine person. Let’s see... She has a family, friends, and they all like her. She did okay in school, but has a job that pays pretty good, good enough to travel internationally and with her friends. She’s dating, and she really likes him. I dunno. She’s a person. She’s got thoughts and feelings, she’s had her heart broken. She’s succeeded, she’s failed. And as I write this, I could almost start to feel better, not care that she’s there, not even be mad at her for being there.

But as the back of my chair rattles for the 1,071st time and loud babble re-emerges, that calm feeling vanishes in the blink of an eye.

I gotta go - bathroom break.