We Need to Talk About Airplanes.

I started writing a coffee date post for today, then realized that I bizarrely had a lot to say about flights. So here we are.  

United. Oh man, this just keeps getting better. It's a bad week to be the CEO of United. Also, fun fact about the CEO: He apparently doesn't know how to apologize? I hope that doctor is a millionaire when this is over, but I also hope that we get to watch it play out a little bit first because PASS THE POPCORN. I truly cannot wait until the opportunity arises where I do something other than what I said I was going to do and someone calls me out on it, so I can respond and say, "I was simply re-accommodating you." Gold, people. Pure gold.

My friend Myra was harassed on an airplane...because her one-year-old was talking? She was very calm and mature about the whole situation and isn't raising a fuss now (like I really want to do), but something really great about what happened to her...people helped her. They switched seats and stood up for her and walked with her because that psycho waited for her when she got off the plane. 

Anyway, I say this because I know that sometimes, for me at least, when I see or overhear something like that happening, I tend to think, "the people who are in charge will take care of it. I don't want to be awkward and get in the way." In reality, being awkward and getting in the way can be the biggest help. I'm going to remember that. 

The last flight I took. I briefly posted this on Instagram stories when it happened but never expounded on it because when you've been stuck on a runway for three hours, you just want to go home. 

It was our last flight of the day and Jack was kind of quietly fussy the whole time, and the woman in front of me kept turning around and shushing him the whole flight. Then, our plane landed and for some unknown reason we just had to sit on the runway for hours with the plane (and air conditioner) turned off. So he got reaaaal fussy. And I didn't blame him! It was hot, I ran out of snacks and milk for him (it was supposed to just be an hour long flight!), he needed to be changed but we weren't allowed to get up. This apparently just pushed the woman in front of us over the edge so she got her phone out and started recording him. 

I am an extremely non-confrontational (read: scared) person and was afraid to say anything to her lest she get angry and yell at me for the remainder of the 839 years we were gonna be stuck on this runway. Luckily, I was flying with my little brother who is neither non-confrontational or scared. He leaned in really close to her phone and said, "Hello. I would just like to state something FOR THE RECORD. It's illegal to record someone without their knowledge." Which probably isn't even true but it scared her so much that she jolted and dropped her phone and stopped recording Jack. 

Your turn! Tell me your weird/good/horrible flight stories. 

One Thousand, Three Hundred and Eighty Days.

One thousand, three hundred and eighty days ago, I was desperately trying to catch a plane from LA to Orlando. I had been in Los Angeles all week as a sponsor on a youth trip, but I was supposed to fly back Sunday morning because Chris' White Coat Ceremony was Monday morning.
What happened instead was something like 3 delayed flights, two canceled flights, twelve hours in an airport, and finally getting on a red-eye. I was so tired and ready to sleep, but I ended up in a middle seat between two obnoxious frat guys (Side note: The second they walked on the plane I just knew they were my seat partners. I have bad luck like that) and when I dozed off at first, I woke up to both of them trying to cuddle with my arms (umm, nope), so I didn't sleep after that. 
We made it to Orlando just in time for me to sprint to the parking lot, hop in Christopher's car, change on the way, and then sprint into the building so he could make it on time for the ceremony. 
Cute hair? Nah. Makeup? What's that? 
I'll be honest: It was a pretty boring ceremony for all those not getting their White Coats. There were so many speeches and questions and answers and it went on and on and on. But it's a day I'll never forget. Because at the end, they rolled out this giant chalkboard that said "Good Doctor" at the top. Then the dean asked everyone what they thought it took to be a good doctor. The answers ranged from compassionate to hard-working to endurance. The dean filled the chalkboard--that has stayed in the lobby of the med-school for the past 1,380 days--with at least a hundred answers. And I thought, Wow, Chris is actually all of these things. 
Up until that point, my poor, naive self had thought of med-school kind of like a Master's program. I didn't yet know all it would entail, didn't know how hard it was, didn't know the gravity of making a choice to be a doctor. That day, seeing all of those answers about what it takes to be a good doctor, and seeing Chris get his first white coat...I think that was the first day I imagined him as an actual doctor. 
I thought, wow, he's going to be a really good doctor. 
One thousand, three hundred and eighty days have passed since then. They've been full. Full of adventure and hard work and tough decisions and sleepless nights and new chapters and happy moments and tears and perseverance. And for him, they've been full of every single one of those answers that got written on that chalkboard. 
In three days, Chris will graduate and become a doctor. He'll get to see his dream become a reality. There will be no more one day, no more eventually. There will be graduation, and there will be Christopher, the love of my life, the doctor. 
The good doctor. 
To say I am excited is a massive understatement. Very rarely in life do we get such big moments that mark hard work and success, but Friday is one of those moments. 
If you need me, I'll be dancing around my apartment surrounded by moving boxes, somewhere between packing and procrastinating and celebrating the fact that sometimes, dreams really do come true.