During my trip to New York, I was overwhelmed with the generosity and helpfulness of so many people. Flight attendants handled my carry-on luggage and stowed my crutch. Airport personnel politely wheeled me from gate to gate. Hotel van drivers went out of their way to make sure I didn’t have to lift a finger.
Because Northwest Airlines allows “special needs passengers” to board first, I was alone in the First Class Cabin when a stooped woman, walking with a cane, came aboard.
Her seat was not in the First Class cabin, but was in the row immediately behind First Class. (That’s a great seat, by the way — on those occasions when we don’t get upgraded, we prefer that placement to an exit row seat.) She made her way back to her seat, passed it, looked at other seats, and then walked back to the front of the plane, squeezing past the incoming passengers.
Eventually, she fought her way to the front and grabbed the arm of a flight attendant. “You’re going to have to do something about my seat,” she said.
The attendant, a big black man with a shaved head and plenty of muscle, manufactured a smile. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s way back there!” the older woman spat. “I’m on a cane! I can’t walk way back there!”
The flight attendant looked at her, glanced at her seat (just three rows back), and raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you back there a moment ago?”
She pointed at me. “He got seated up front.”
“He’s got a First Class ticket,” the attendant replied. “May I help you back to your seat?”
“I can’t possibly make it that far back in the plane!”
The attendant assumed his full height and turned his smile up a notch. “You managed it earlier, didn’t you?”
The woman curled her lip. “I’ll go back there now, but if there’s a vacant seat up here, I expect you to put me in it.” She turned, glared at me again, and flounced the extra seven feet back to seat 5A.
The attendant watched her go, waggled his eyebrows at me, and grinned. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
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