Lessons in the key of Coach

I had a same-day turn to New York City yesterday.  I can do this trip blindfolded, it's so routine - 6AM outbound/5PM return on Mother United. 

At 2AM, SleasyUpdate called to advise that the 6AM to LGA had cancelled.  I discovered this when I checked my phone at 420AM as I was leaving the house.  I called Global Services and they'd already rebooked me on the 806A to LGA.  Fine, I thought although it would wreak havoc with my meeting schedule.  In my fog, I forgot about the Newark option.  It took me a minute to realize, 'Um, wait, why not try for EWR?'  So I climbed in the car, made my way to ORD, and as soon as I got to Global Services reception, the agent said, 'Oh good, you're here.  I've already rebooked you on the 6AM to Newark.'  Well, great.  She handed me my boarding pass, 22A, and told me she thought I'd not clear the waitlist for First.  She was wrong.  I got to the gate and First was full.  For the first time in years, and I mean, years, I was sitting in Economy Minus.  Don't get me wrong, I like Economy Plus.  I do not like Economy Minus.  I am not a tall man.  My knees have no business touching the seat in front of me.  In Economy Minus, they do.  As I sat there jammed in 22A, I recalled an experience crammed into an uncomfortable Coach seat that taught me a thing or two.

It happened about 18 years ago, while we were living in the sweatshop that is Phoenix.  I had gotten my first 'big' promotion and was managing a big operational consolidation effort for one of my biggest clients.  Late on a Friday, I was told I needed to get to North Carolina the next day for a series of meetings starting on Sunday.  This was a big deal, literally and figuratively.  The quickest way to get there was on American Airlines, on the "Clampett Express" via Nashville, as this was back in the day when they had a hub in Nashville.

I was pretty frantic about this trip and was not in the best frame of mind when I got to the airport the next day.  The assembled teeming crowd made it evident that the flight would live up to its "Clampett Express" nickname.  There would be no First Class for me that day and I was way in the back of an MD80, which even then, felt as ancient as the flight attendants working the flight.  I was on the aisle on the three seat side, seated next to a woman traveling with a boy of about seven years old.  He was in the middle seat. No good was going to come of this.  None.

From the minute we got seated, this kid was all over the place.  Elephant tranquilizers would have only spurred him on.  As he talked, which was incessantly, he'd flail his arms, kick his legs, and generally, wreak havoc.  He had to touch all my papers that I had on my tray table.  He kicked me, kicked the seat in front of him.  My glares were death rays but they had no effect on him or his mother.  Reasoning with him was impossible.  The mother wasn't much more responsive to my pleas for her to do something.  This was the longest flight of my life.  I won't detail it but he finally eased up after I lost my temper near the end of the flight. 

I'm not proud of what happened next...as we were on descent into Nashville, I was reveling in the fact that this kid was finally quiet.  I felt a tap on my arm.  It was him.  'WHAT?!' I snapped at him.  'Um, sir,' he quavered, 'um, I have something I'd like to give to you.  It means a lot to me.  It's this book.'  It was at then that he pulled a copy of the Book of Mormon from his little backpack.  I think he said something like 'I hope you'll read it,' as he pushed it my way.  At that point, I realized my connecting flight was not taking me to Raleigh, rather it was taking me to Hades.  I instantly knew that this kid's Primary teacher had challenged him to give someone a copy of that Book while on this big trip he was taking.  It was time for my proverbial walk of shame now.  I had to explain that, in fact, I had a copy of that Book in my bag, as I was a member of his Church too.  You've never seen a more confused look on a kid's face in your life.  His mother's face was frozen in a state of horror/shock.  Clearly, she could not believe that Angry Man was a member of her Church.  I told the kid that I really appreciated it and hoped he would give the Book to someone else.  Not another word was said.  The mother's face was still frozen in abject shock.  I'm not sure she ever fully recovered.

I've never forgotten that experience.  I'm the first to admit I wasn't on my "A" game that day.  I should have been more patient.  More importantly, it reminds me to this day to remember something my mother always said to me, "Remember who you are."  Because you never know who you'll sit next to on the plane.

PS - Name the album on whom the title of this post is based.  I don't have anything to give away.  Just want to see if anyone knows the album and the artist.