Airline Assault (#277)

By now, most of America is probably aware of #Reclinegate. If you aren’t, it goes like this:

A white woman with back issues reclined her seat on a Delta flight–waiting until after the white man behind her had eaten. (He had the last seat on the plane and could not recline.) The man proceeded to pummel the crap out of the back of her seat. She filmed him. For some reason, the media framed this as a “both sides” issue and ran polls on “who is right?”

Plenty of white men say, “Bitch got what she deserved.”

Most women ask, “How is this not assault?!”

I say,  “Let me tell you a story.”

*****

When my son was almost two, we flew from L.A. to D.C. to see my family. My husband stayed home to have a vacation work and take care of the animals.

I carried Baby D’s car seat in a massive backpack through the airport and onto the plane. It’s not easy to manage a toddler, carry-ons, and buckling a car seat into a window airplane seat (car seats must go into bulkhead seats where they will not not impede any passengers exiting the plane in an emergency). It’s even harder to keep a toddler who doesn’t nap entertained. But I had interactive books, finger puppets, and Thomas the Tank Engine. Also lots of snacks.

I told the woman in front of Baby D that I’d let him out of his seat as soon as the seatbelt sign went off. I offered to buy her a drink just in case he kicked the back of her seat while he was confined during takeoff and landing. She thanked me, but assured me she was fine.

I was exhausted by the time we landed, but Baby D had behaved very well. He was rewarded with See’s Candies.

We had a nice visit with Baby D’s cousins and aunts and uncles.

On our flight back to L.A., though, there was a white man in his early thirties in the seat ahead of Baby D.

After I got Baby D settled, I did my usual mom-spiel, warning him that there was a toddler behind him. I told him that I’d do my darndest to keep Baby D from kicking the seat and offered to buy him a drink or a meal.

The man stood up and announced, “That is unacceptable!”

I recoiled before tentatively saying, “Well, his car seat has to be by the window, so I can’t switch seats with him, but, uh, maybe you could ask a flight attendant to move you?”

Glaring at me, the man flagged down a flight attendant. He demanded to be moved to first class.

The flight attendant told him there was no room. She offered to find someone to switch window seats with him in economy.

“This is my seat! I paid for it!” yelled Entitled White Man. “I should not have to move!”

“Sir, the most I can do is switch your seat.”

“That is not acceptable! I’m about to be assaulted!” (Yes. He used those exact words, like Baby D was UFC dude about to fuck him up…with size 2T sneakers. )

By now we were in full-on scene mode, with nearby passengers whispering and staring. I was mortified. I was brought up to avoid scenes at all costs, and I’d somehow created one while trying to be a considerate parent.

This was not the response I’d expected. When I was single, I’d had my seat kicked numerous times by kids sitting behind me. I’d cursed their inattentive parents. I swore I’d never be that parent as I glared at those parents and their kicking kids, I never yelled at them, because that would be making a scene.

I had an empty middle seat next to me on my last flight! So shocking I took a photo.

Besides, flying is a little bit like the lottery. You accept that while sometimes you might get an empty middle seat in your row, you might also get Harriet Halitosis or Crying Twin Toddlers.

I heard passengers echoing this same sentiment around me as Entitled White Man continued making a scene:

“My dude, seriously?”

“We’ve all been stuck in front of kids.”

“Suck it up.”

Entitled White Man grew more belligerent. The flight crew got involved. The prospect of a delayed flight loomed.

The flight attendant found two volunteers with a window and middle seat. Women, of course. She asked if Baby D and I would be prepared to move.

Of course we would. But it took forever, with toddler, diaper bag, carry-ons, and a giant car seat. I had trouble with the airline seat buckle, bruising and bloodying my knuckles as I fought to secure the car seat. Pumped with adrenaline, feeling the pressure of a delayed flight and a few hundred eyes, I felt slow and clumsy.

But I got us organized. The flight was only delayed a few minutes. When the flight attendant came around with drinks, I asked if I could pay for anything for the woman in front of Baby D. (I was too cowardly to ask her directly and risk another angry scene.)

The flight attendant said, “We already took care of her.” Then she whispered that they’d been very, very close to kicking Entitled White Man off the flight.

Which made me feel a little less like the criminal in the scenario.

After we landed at LAX, multiple women from our flight found me at baggage claim. They wanted to make sure we were okay. They expressed support and vented their rage at Entitled White Man.

Much like the women on Twitter after #Reclinegate.

Because we’ve all been there. We’ve been the accommodating seat-changers when men threw entitled hissy fits. We’ve been made to feel like criminals for take up space. We’ve been bitched out for daring to consider inconveniencing a white man.

And we all know that:

  • Entitled white men would never punch a seat with another man in it.
  • It’s only assault if a man is a victim.

Even if the perpetrator is under age 2.

Valentine’s Day: BC vs. AD (#276)

I titled this post “Valentine’s Day” because it’s the season, but really? Valentine’s Day is a euphemism for sex. Romance, too, but mainly sex.

In our house, BC stands for “Before Children.” Back during Valentine’s Day BC, my husband snuck home from work for “nooners.” We had sex whenever we wanted, but there was always guaranteed sex on Valentine’s Day, his birthday, and our anniversary.

AD stands for “After Dalton,” our son.  Valentine’s Day AD? Bahahahaha.

I learned from sisters and mom friends that’s normal. If you’re a halfway decent mom, sex and romance disappear after kids.

It’s not because you didn’t try. Wait, let me rephrase. It’s not because you didn’t want to try.

Okay, maybe it is because you didn’t want to try. Continue reading Valentine’s Day: BC vs. AD (#276)

Parental Expectations: East vs. West (#263)

My husband had Chinese-American parents. Mine were white, uptight, and Anglo-Saxon Protestant/ Atheist.

Andy was expected to obey his parents without question. If his parents said his curfew was 10 PM, Andy was home at 10 PM. If Andy’s father wanted to sit on the couch and watch TV, Andy could forget about participating in Little League or any other sport.

I was expected to obey, but not without question. My mom was an attorney. Dinner table discussions in her house ranged from abortion to capital punishment. Everyone was encouraged to express their own opinions and defend them. If I could present a good argument for a curfew change or pierced ears, these items might be considered. (Lost on curfew, won on pierced ears.) Continue reading Parental Expectations: East vs. West (#263)

Autumn on the Edge (#262)

Nursing moms never sleep in. Not on holidays, and not on weekends. Even if you could sleep through a crying baby, you probably can’t sleep through aching, leaking boobs. So up you get at 4:30 AM, changing the baby, feeding the baby, and then maybe entertaining the baby if baby is suddenly wide awake.

After all, your poor partner works hard all week, providing for you and the child. There’s probably a stressful project at work, or maybe he had to travel. And since you’re already up, you take a last, wistful look at your comfy bed before closing the door and letting your husband sleep in.

You don’t know it, but you’ve taken the first step to divorce.

Or murder. Continue reading Autumn on the Edge (#262)