Andrea Wilson Woods' Blog

Note: This blog entry is a continuation of a previous blog titled: Flying the Unfriendly Skies: Part One—The Ignorant Mother so I suggest you read it first to fully understand my disagreement with Miss Sourpuss and Continental Airlines.

The passengers remained quiet after I had confronted the mother regarding her son’s behavior. I don’t know what I expected. I guess I was hoping at least one person (besides my husband) would applaud my courage, but instead, I had become the older, malicious bully who had verbally attacked the younger, innocent mother. I’m glad I waited until the end of the flight to say something because I swear our captain took the scenic route around the Houston/Bush International airport. Finally, our plane found its gate, and I made sure the boy and his mother exited the cabin ahead of us. I thought it was best to put as much distance between her and me as possible. As my husband and I walked off the plane, I told him to go ahead and wait for me. I wanted to speak to our friendly stewardess Miss Sourpuss.

Before I go any further, I should tell you that even though I’m not afraid of confronting people, I don’t make a habit of it. I’ll admit I am the woman who sends back her dirty martini when it isn’t quite dirty enough. I will also return food at a restaurant if my meal isn’t correct (I rarely order straight off the menu) or if the cuisine doesn’t taste good. When a hairdresser once hacked my hair to pieces a few weeks before I had to be a bridesmaid in two weddings, I got my money back. However, until this incident, I had never said anything to a parent on an airplane besides, “Could you please tell your child to stop kicking the back of my seat?” I had also never complained about a flight attendant’s bad service, but there’s a first time for everything.

After all of the passengers had collected their carry-on luggage and left the plane, I approached Miss Sourpuss who was standing next to the co-pilot. I told her that I would like to have a word with her about our flight. With the same “My-life-sucks-I-wish-I-were-dead” expression on her face, she just shrugged her shoulders and said okay. Although I had intended for our conversation to be private to avoid embarrassing her, I started talking since she made no effort to move anywhere. The co-pilot shifted his weight and leaned forward.

“My husband and I were seated in row 10, in about the middle of the airplane. In front of us, a young mother sat with her little boy who wouldn’t stop singing the entire flight. Why you didn’t say anything to her about his behavior?”

Miss Sourpuss’s expression changed. Her mouth opened, her eyes blinked, and I could see her searching for the correct answer in her brain. “I … I … could never ask a parent … I’m just not able to … confront people.”

I already knew she was passive, but the fact that she admitted it surprised me. I responded, “Well, his behavior was inappropriate, and it was your job to do something about it.” The co-pilot looked at her. She furrowed her brow.

“Uh … it’s not my job. People can use their cell phones …” I raised my eyebrow. Right then the captain walked up and joined our group, and Miss Sourpuss realized her mistake. “I meant people can talk as loud as they want on the plane.”

I laughed because the conversation was getting so ridiculous. “Really? So I can yell at the top of my lungs during a flight and you’re not going to say anything to me?” The captain grimaced and looked at Miss Sourpuss who must have been sweating through her uniform.

She replied with as firm a tone as someone like her can muster, “Well, I wouldn’t do it because I didn’t hear the boy at all. And I went up and down that aisle the entire flight.”

“First of all, that’s not true. My husband and I couldn’t find you anywhere when we wanted a refill on our sodas. Secondly, you changed your story when the captain arrived.” I looked at him, then the co-pilot, and then her. “Just so we’re all clear, you went from not being capable, to not being responsible, to sheer denial.”

Miss Sourpuss pursed her lips. “I didn’t hear him!”

“And apparently, you’re deaf as well.” I looked at the captain. “Thank you so much for getting us to Houston on time, but please tell your bosses, I will remember this incident. By the way, I’m a writer, and I will let people know that it’s okay to sing at the top of their lungs on a Continental flight.”

Okay, so I didn’t say that last part, but now I know how to solve the problem should it happen again. The next time a lazy stewardess refuses to hush a chirping child, I have a plan. I’m going to belt out (and I’m tone deaf) the most obnoxious children’s song I know. My sister Adrienne taught it to me. In fact, she and my (then) boyfriend’s four-year-old son got in trouble for singing it in the car during a road trip. I was driving, and after 15 minutes of Bananas in Pajamas, I told them to pick a different song. When they didn’t, I yelled, “Shut your mouths, or I will shut them for you.” They stopped singing immediately.

After years of teaching, I can raise my already-loud voice over a room full of 100 noisy children so out-singing one kid on an airplane will be easy. My husband is appalled by my idea. He intends to begin divorce proceedings if I should proceed to break into song. I told him that he should pretend that he doesn’t know me or tell people that my “medication” doesn’t work at high altitudes. He didn’t laugh. My theory is that even a passive stewardess like Miss Sourpuss will have to tell me to shut up, and when she does, I’ll point to the child and say, “He started it!”

Who knows? Maybe I’ll incite a sing-along:

Bananas, in pajamas, are coming down the stairs
Bananas, in pajamas, are coming down in pairs
Bananas, in pajamas, are chasing teddy bears
cause on Tuesdays day … they want to catch them unawares!

AWW — XoXo

P. S. I wish I had gotten Miss Sourpuss’s real name so I could file a formal complaint.

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On the hot, humid afternoon of Friday, July 10, 2009, my husband and I boarded Continental Airlines Flight 2292 * with service from Birmingham, Alabama, to Houston/Bush International. Our flight was supposed to leave at 5:50 p.m. so we, along with 42 other people, were in our seats by 5:30 p.m. The reason I know the exact number of passengers is that our plane, the ERJ 145, was at its maximum capacity; it is the smallest commercial airline I’ve ever flown on. The overhead bins are so tiny that the popular wheeled travel bags that are designed to fit into them do not. Part of our delay included passengers giving up their “carry-on” luggage and receiving a ticket to retrieve their bags after the flight. Although I’m not claustrophobic, I started wondering if there was enough oxygen in the cabin for all of us.

Finally, we appeared ready for takeoff. Though we were running 15 minutes late, the pilot assured us we would land in Houston at our scheduled arrival time of 7:37 p.m. My husband watched through the window as the plane soared into the air. Sitting next to him, I had the aisle seat since there are no three-seat rows on the ERJ 145. Directly in front of me was a young mother sitting with her son, who appeared to be about four years old. I usually notice where kids are sitting on airplanes because even though I like children, I worry about their behavior. Given that the passenger section of this particular plane could fit into our house (only a slight exaggeration), I could probably have told you where everyone was sitting. Anyway, I leaned back into my seat, opened my magazine, and that is when the “noise” began.

I wish the noise had been crying because as aggravating as a sobbing child can be, I can control my urge to interfere. My opinion about children crying on airplanes is they may be sick, scared, hungry, tired, or their ears may be popping, which hurts like hell. I actually empathize with those frustrated parents who are embarrassed by their children’s tears, but who are also sad because they cannot make the pain, fear, hunger, or even exhaustion from traveling magically disappear. Whenever I see that look of utter despair in a parent’s eyes, I give my most encouraging “you-can-do-it” and “we-don’t-all-hate-you” smile. Crying may be irritating, but I can handle it. However, there are some noises no one should have to endure—especially in cramped quarters with no way out.

You see, the little boy in front of us began singing. Loudly. Not only did his mother not stop him, she encouraged him to continue. I sighed, but then I remembered I had brought my portable CD player with headphones. Problem solved! I turned up the volume all the way (something I never do because loud music makes it difficult for me to concentrate on reading), but I could still hear the boy’s high-pitched voice over the rock music blasting in my ears. I couldn’t believe it. I gave up on the music and found my ear plugs; they didn’t work either. I looked at my watch. I glanced at my husband who shook his head. I made eye contact with other passengers who appeared equally as annoyed as I was. Meanwhile, the boy’s tune—imagine a modern day version of the Smurfs theme song—echoed in my head.

The boy never stopped singing, and no one said anything to his mother—not even the stewardess whom my husband and I nicknamed Miss Sourpuss for her lovely demeanor. I bit my tongue the entire flight, but as we were approaching our gate, I felt compelled to say something to the mother if only to save fellow travelers from future torture. I tapped her on the shoulder; she turned around.

I smiled and said, “I want to tell you something that I hope you won’t take the wrong way. You have a lovely son who is clearly a very happy boy, but he has been singing loudly this entire flight.”

She nodded so I continued. “I’m a former teacher and it isn’t appropriate for him to be so loud on an airplane. He needs to learn to use his ‘indoor library’ voice.”

I could see the muscles in her face twitch. “Look, I’m only saying this to you because no one else on this plane will, but trust me, we are all irritated.” I could feel the eyes of our fellow passengers watching us.

Then the mother exploded, “Well, I paid for a ticket just like you did!” She jutted her chin forward and glared at me.

Until that point, I had remained calm but then I lashed out, “We all paid for our tickets! (You stupid bitch) It doesn’t give you the right to allow your son to sing at the top of his lungs for two hours. He doesn’t know any better, but you should. You are his mother; it’s your job to teach him manners.”

The whole situation disintegrated from there. I backed off, but I didn’t apologize. I’m glad I said something, but then I realized I should not have had to. If our stewardess, Miss Sourpuss, had done her job, I’m sure the mother would have been less defensive and more cooperative regarding her son’s actions. I’ll continue this story in my next blog titled: Flying the Unfriendly Skies: Part Two—The Lazy Stewardess.

AWW — XoXo

* Operated by Expressjet Airlines Inc doing business as Continental Express

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