4. December 2007 by James.

I saw Jesus in a wheelchair in the airport in Boise, Idaho on Monday, December 3 morning at 8:45.

I thought he was talking to himself, but after further review I realized he was talking to his mother on a bluetooth ear-mic-cell-phone.

He didn’t call her “Mary” but that must be her name. He was a black man, about 60, and wore impeccably white tennis shoes. I guess if you’re in a wheelchair you don’t put much wear on your tennies, but these were exceptionally, blindingly white.

“Mamma, I prayed da blood o’ Jesus on dis airplane, on da pilot, and all da passengers”, he cupped into his ear-piece with extraordinarily long fingers.

“Ain’t nobody dyin’ on this trip.. ha ha. Mamma, ain’t nobody gittin’ hurt on dis plane, I pled’ da’ blood a’ Jeeeesus on dis flight, glory to God!”.

My ears perked up. Anybody “prayin’” the “blood o’Jeeeesus” on me deserves an ear.

“Mamma,” he whispered, “you know I’m Jeeeesus, an ai’m gonna haijak dis plain”.

What? I can’t believe it. In this post 9/11 age someone is openly talking about hijacking? Should I report it? Will I make more trouble than it’s worth?

“I gonna haijak dis plain’ an I gonna show dem how Jesus is Lo’d o’ all, Mamma”.

No way!

I thought hijackers only hijacked in the name of Mohammad. “Allah Ahba”… or whatever.

“Mamma, ain’t nobody on dis plane realize how much Jesus means to dem.”

Oh yeah?

“I gonna show dem dat Jesus an’ we share our DNA, ’cause I’m Jesus”.

I’m all ears.

“Yes, Mamma, DNA - “Dis Not All”. “It ain’t over”. “Jesus shed his blood so dat dese people won’t haf to die, it ain’t over”.

Oh, that’s what it was all about?

“Mamma, I yo’ yungest babay o’ five, I ain’t lai’in, I lookin ‘roun and I see all dese people hoo don’ no Jeeeesus.”

Pause

“An Mamma, I been prayin’ fo’ dem”.

Pause

“Yes Mamma, dey aw wite foks, an’ Jeeesus lov’ dem too”.

He looks at me and knows I’m listening to him. So are about five other people within earshot.

The gate checker is right there next to the man who calls himself Jesus. He must have heard the terrorist say he was going to hijack the airplane. Surely he’s going to escort Jesus out of the boarding area!

“Flight 420 to Denver will be boarding shortly, if you have any children or special needs please board at this time”.

Jesus is sitting in a wheelchair that has “SKYCAPS, DO NOT REMOVE” blazoned in white letters on the back of the seat.

I’m thinking; “Who would rip off a wheelchair? No less a SKYCAP wheelchair?”

A gate attendant approaches Jesus. “OK troublemaker, you’re boarding now.”

Troublemaker?! This guy is going to hijack the airplane. He thinks he’s Jesus! He’s not a troublemaker, he’s a terrorist!

“Oh ma’am, I ain’t no trubl’ mak’r” says Jesus. “I gonna pray fo’ you. You don’ call me a trub’l mak’r o’ I gonna pray fo’ you”.

Oh Great! He’s threatening to pray for the attendant. Since when was prayer something to threaten a gate attendant with? Jesus? Are you really threatening someone with prayer?

He has a walker that has to go with him on the wheelchair. The attendant swiftly places the walker on the wheelchair and whisks Jesus to the boarding gate while he continues to jabber into his earpiece….

“Mamma, dey callin’ me a trubl’ makr’. I yo’ yungist’ baby an dey calln’ me a trubl’ makr’! Mebbe’ I bring da ‘rath a’ Gad’ down on ‘em?”

The attendant quietly and quickly wheels Jesus toward the jet way.

“I ain’t no trubl’ makr’ ma’am.” He grabs the attendant’s attention, “My mamma’ don’ like you.”

Ok.. Do I want to get on this flight? The “rath a’ Gad” may be dangerous. Jesus may hijack this plane and we may all die! Maybe.

I go ahead and board the plane….this is too good to NOT be a part of.

I hope Jesus is seated next to me. I’ve never thought of sitting next to Jesus on a flight to Denver, en-route to Philadelphia. This could be an interesting conversation. What would we talk about? The Patriot’s undefeated season, or Obama versus Hilary, or, Paul’s epistles? How about this: “What was your brother James thinking when he said that “faith without works is dead”, in direct contradiction to Paul’s doctrine that salvation is by faith alone?”

I board the plane and squeeze down the aisle with a hundred other people and see Jesus in 7A.

That’s appropriate. He couldn’t be seated in row 6 could he?

I’m in 19F; steerage.

As we begin the take-off sequence I look out the window and see that the flaps are not set correctly. They should be at 15degrees. Instead I see that they are only at 5degrees. The plan will crash! Surely Jesus has jinxed us!

I’m not sure I want this Jesus praying for me, or praying the ‘blood o’ Jeeesus” on me.

Can Jesus in 7A just keep to himself and let the rest of us fly to Denver?

The plane takes off ok. Maybe 5degrees is ok after all and the pilots might actually know more than I.

Jesus….Please stay in 7A and stop prayin’ fo’ people. I just want to get to Philadelphia in one piece.

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30. November 2007 by James.

Elbow-room is even more important if you’re in the middle seat. (Continued from Charming Carlita’s Elbow) I picked a window seat when I booked the flights.  I was assigned 17F – a window seat near the back; almost back where they stuff poor people – the “steerage” of today.  People like me who were too stupid to book their flight 6 months in advance, or have less than 250,000 frequent flyer miles.  Now I’ve been re-assigned to 19B – a dreaded middle seat – in “steerage”.  They dropped Neil Armstrong in a specific crater on the moon in 1969, but they can’t figure out to keep me in the seat I was assigned two weeks ago. 

They should stagger people by body size when they seat us.  Fat/Skinny/Fat, or Skinny/Fat/Skinny.  I’ve been in the middle when it’s Fat/Fat/Fat and don’t want to do that again.  All you have to do is add the letter “r” and there you have it. 

This situation is where elbow-real-estate cunning and savvy makes the difference between being the meat in a Fat sandwich or being on the top layer of three-cupcake pyramid.  I prefer the latter, but the prospect of the former makes me head to the counter with my ticket and beg for an aisle or a window seat. 

The stern-faced lady at the checkout counter with the graying hair pulled back in such a tight ponytail I can’t figure out how she can even open her eyes has already told me “every seat is taken, unless you want to pay the $29.95 upgrade, it’s impossible”.   But this person at the departure gate smiles and says “Sure Mr. Blowers, would you like a window on the left or right side?”  They can build a space station and toss in a bunch of Ruskies and Yanks together, but they can’t coordinate between the check-in counter and the gate counter.  Either someone is lying, or the computer system at United Airlines is still using punch cards.
 

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30. November 2007 by James.

The “sign-of-despair” says “DELAYED - UNITED 309 - DENVER - 1:51PM - NOW 3:10″. 

The sign is not the red scrolling lights like in Denver terminal, but a LCD flat panel.  It’s very attractive, with a picture of a clean, half-empty jet flying through the friendly skies. Like most everything related to airline travel today, the marketing does not come close to reality.

Mr. Confused Frown on His Face is not here, so I’m saved from whistled Beethoven in my left ear.  However I’m challenged to explain why the most advanced technology in the world, run by the most advanced air traffic control systems, still can’t get an airplane from point A to point B without frustrating the entire load of people, and still claim that its a rare occurrence, even though it happens to me at least 35% of the time.  Contrary to the marketing campaigns; this is NOT the friendly skies.

I’m in the boarding area of gate B4 in Des Moines, but it could be any airport, even the newest, cleanest, most advanced ones.  Could they make the waiting area seats any more uncomfortable?  Not only to sit in but the military barracks way they are arranged?  Playing footsie with a flustered floosie from Florida who insists on leaving her bags in the 12-inch aisle so you have to step on her painted toes, foretells a wonderful journey today. 

I’m convinced that the cold steel armrests of the always-blue prison-style seating – with an inch-and-a-half strip of fake leather – are specifically designed to create pain and discomfort for the traveling public.  An inch-and-a-half! And there are two of us contending for elbow-real-estate.  My elbow needs more than an inch-and-a-half of real-estate, but now I’m unwillingly snuggling up with Charming Charlita’s elbow while she chows down on a chorizo and chips from the fast food Mexican booth manned by Abdul Mohamed Fitzpatrick and his cousin Fazil Ahmed Jihad. 

The contention for elbow room in the waiting room is good practice for the coming turf war on the airplane where the consequences of losing my spot on the bigger two-inch elbow landing spot on the seat divider is far more severe. You can’t just get up and walk around, and if you lose the elbow-war on the aircraft, Charming Charlita will most likely stake her claim on your lap with her hairy, sweaty elbow, where she’ll share her chorizo crumbs with you whether you want them or not. 

I have a strategy to win the elbow-estate turf war; I learned it from Jon.  First, I stake my claim by getting to my seat first and planting my elbow firmly where it’s most comfortable and doesn’t intrude obtrusively into the rib-space of my soon-to-be sitting neighbor, and then close my eyes.   If on the other hand I get beat in the race to stake my claim, I have this plan . . .

I’m still in the Des Moines boarding area, the late flight is landing and people are beginning to mill about staring intently at the sign-of-despair, challenging it to announce another delay. The rising tension of a hundred people unsure of their evening’s fate with connecting flights and parties and dinners they might miss is strong enough to smell.  I can’t describe it, but I can smell it.

I’m writing this blog, and multi-task-mapping my strategy to win the elbow-turf-war knowing I’ve been re-assigned to a middle seat, when the smell of tension goes away in a snap.  I can’t sense the tension any more.  I look up from by beat-up Gateway laptop and see people milling around in front of the window facing the now-landed aircraft.  Nobody is deplaning, nobody is crowding the counter or forming a line, nobody is furtively glancing at the sign-of-despair, a couple of people even politely smile at each other as they share the same window view. 

Jon, who’s supposed to be in the bathroom as I watch his bags, sends me a text message.  “No wonder the delay”.  I stand up and leave our bags unattended - for some reason I know they will be OK. 

Six men in military dress uniforms create a hedge for a red carpet that unrolls from the open cargo door to a golden vehicle.  At first I think it must be some politician come to sucker the Iowans with vacant promises of “more of this and less of that” before super-Tuesday, but then a better view reveals a golden hearse. 

I’m griping about a delayed flight and insufficient elbowroom, and here are the remains of one of our military.  Passengers reverently and respectfully watch the whole sequence of unloading the casket.  Amazing. The military precision.  The dignity.  The finality.

We may have the crappiest air transportation system in the world, but here’s a hundred people standing tall for just one of our fine soldiers killed in some brainless, messed-up, waste-of-life, hole-in-the-earth country.  I wonder how this soldier lost his or her life.  I hope it wasn’t wasted tracking down some unshaven loser who delights in blowing up innocent things and people just to make a point.

The smell of tension is gone.  A few people make eye contact, even smile at each other.  A couple is crying by the water fountain. 

The flight will begin boarding in 15 minutes.

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26. November 2007 by James.

Denver airport during a flight cancellation is mind-numbing. What makes it even better is the people who are convinced that the whole terminal - even the air traffic control system - exists for their own satisfaction and approval. “This is not Starbucks folks!” These airport employee types are NOT programmed to say YES to your every need.

The guy with the confused frown cemented on his face seems to think he’s at Starbucks and the people in the red vests are obliged serve him a triple shot Americano with a squirt of English Toffee for his troubles.  His girlfriend – sporting a blank stare – is playing “sucky-face” with him in a failed attempt to suck his frown off his face.  It won’t help much; he’d still be confused about his inconvenience.  “My flight?” he seems to be asking, “Cancelled?  How dare they?!”  He seems unaware that there are a hundred people sharing his traveling bliss.

He sits behind me.  I’m facing the counter with the red digital sign that scrolls, “FLIGHT 320 – DES MOINES – CANCELLED – MECHANICAL PROBLEMS”.  His back is toward me, and the counter, but he untangles himself from his girlfriend’s arms and looks over his shoulder at the red sign-of-despair as if it will instantly bring good news.  His face is in my space, next to my left ear.  He doesn’t seem to notice, so I adjust my position to clear his line of sight with the sign.  He doesn’t move, just stares at the sign.  After a while I’m uncomfortable in my “adjusted” position, so move back.  He doesn’t budge.  He’s now staring at my left ear.  I’m thinking he’ll soon give up, so hold my position.  He seems to be studying my ear-hair.  I’m not budging.

I figure if I talk to my fellow traveler Jon, Mr. Confused-Frown will get the hint that he’s invading, and get out of my space.  He puts his legs up on the chair next to him, leans back against the arm of his chair and settles in – studying my left ear that’s blocking his telepathic control over the sign-of-dispair.  I have a huge mole behind my left ear.  I hope he enjoys it.  I’m distracted, so my conversation with Jon is pointless.  I duck down again to clear his view.  He stares at the sign, controlling it with his super-powers to change – “YOU’RE NOW IN DES MOINES – THANK-YOU FOR FLYING THE FRIENDLY SKIES”.

I’m uncomfortable in my twisted crouch, so I move back into my seat.  He stares into my left ear – then starts whistling Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in D – my left ear is his only audience.  The air from his puckered lips puffs my hair.  I give up.

I shift to the front of my seat so he’ll blow his foul-smelling music into the back of my head – and maybe he’ll take a hint at my sudden movement.  Beethoven’s refrain was never so annoying.  He whistles beautifully – on key – good tone – vibrant rhythm.  My back is sore from leaning forward.  I lean back in my seat and move even closer to him.  Self-defense experts teach that leaning into your foe reduce his leverage and power – this should push him back.  The galloping part of Beethoven’s Fifth is puffed into my ear from an even closer distance.  Somebody else can have my seat – I’m going to the bathroom defeated.

I hope his girlfriend sucks Beethoven out of his musical mouth.

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