8.40 a.m. in STL.
Our flight this morning departed an hour late.
This is never a happy thing, but especially when on has been up and moving since 4.30 a.m. and just wants to get to New York City.
We had a dusting of snow overnight, and ground temperatures were below freezing, so the jet had to be de-iced.
But Lambert only had one working de-icing truck. So we waited. Forty-five minutes.
And then, just as the pilot was ready to start the engine, a passenger puked. Twice. And the pilots had to contact supervisors to determine whether or not to off-board that passenger.
The decision made to leave the passenger on the flight (she had eaten breakfast too quickly, and was nervous about flying), we finally hit the skies.
The aged Orthodox priest next to me is snoring.
And just like that, the clouds below us clear, and I see the patchwork fields of Indiana, or perhaps Ohio.
Flying first class (I burned points for this trip) on a regional jet means a) a slightly more comfortable seat and certainly more generous leg room and b) coffee in a mug and c) a banana with my Biscoff cookies.
I’m watching the man in seat 1C. He must be an attorney. I will surmise, no matter his profession, that he is not much aware of how his actions affect others. He stepped onto the jet, dropped his bag in his seat, and then stood there texting for nearly a minute, while all manner of passengers waited behind him. His texting done, he then removed another passenger’s coat from the overhead bin, took off his own and put it in the bin, looked at the other passenger and asked “is this yours?”, and then sat down.
What text is that important that you can’t sit down to send it? At 6.45 in the morning??
And the other passenger is holding tight to his coat. I don’t think he wants smarmy attorney to touch it.