Travel Woes Pt. 3: Always bring more Snacks

Every stand-up comedian has a joke about airports. There’s just something about travelling I guess. Or, as Byron says, “And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep.” So here is yet another installment of some travelling misadventures. 

I have not flown with an 18 month old yet, or multiple small children, so I’m sure it gets worse. But flying while pregnant was not my cup of tea. The second trimester had seen the end of most of my morning sickness—until I boarded the aircraft. I am prone to motion sickness as it is, and pregnancy seems to take everything to its superlative. We brought what I thought was a proper amount of snacks to make it through the day. 

You’d think the events of our honeymoon travels would have taught me better. Our flight was to land in Nashville at a late but still reasonable dinner hour. We were told to fold up our tray tables and put away large electronic devices. Land was in sight. But we didn’t land. We hovered. We flew above and around a large storm of tornadoes that were not unusual for Nashville. Eventually, the plane ran out of gas and was diverted to Indianapolis. 

The flight people were still optimistic about getting into Nashville that evening, however, and did not de-board the plane. Nate and I ran out of snacks. We had, however, landed successfully without me getting sick, which was a plus. There was a close call when I felt the need to locate the courtesy vomit bag. The flight attendants went down the aisle handing out water bottles. I looked at Nate. 

“It’s time,” I said. Nate went to beg a crumb for his poor pregnant wife. Actually, he offered to pay, but the attendants were very courteous and didn’t charge us. I must say, the “I’m pregnant” perks usually outweigh the “We’re on our honeymoon” perks. To be fair, you have a much longer timeframe to pull the “I’m pregnant” card, and so, until I go on a forty week honeymoon, a fair comparison will have to wait. Nate returned with a “elite snack package,” complete with dried apricots, spreadable cheeses, as well as an large package of everything-bagel-seasoned beef jerky. We ate like kings—or as well as kings can eat flying economy. 

The storms had passed, and we were ready to take to the skies again. Or we would’ve, if our flight crew hadn’t timed out on the hour. We sat a little while longer to witness the changing of the guard. By the time we got to Nashville, rather than hunt down a Waffle House, we opted to head to our lodgings. Part of this decision was due to the fact that my grandmother was hosting us, and though she would be asleep, I knew that the cupboards of her guest apartment would be far from bare. God bless her. We feasted on fresh, hearty salads from a local bakery with BlueBell ice cream for dessert. The Lord doth provide. 

Our flight back was less eventful. Our flights were un-delayed and we got to have Chick-fil-A on our layover in Denver. Little did I know, I would get to enjoy the delicacy twice that day. We were seated near the back of the plane next to a large and silent, masked gentleman who didn’t bother us, nor us him. At least, for most of the flight. Landings are the worst. They really are. I once again felt the need to be sick, although not as bad as it had been on the way there. Nonetheless, unable to get out of my seat, I ruffled through the pocket of the seatback in front of me to find the bag. What seat doesn’t have a sick bag? Not to worry. I was feeling worse, but I could use Nate’s. Except he didn’t have one either. Panicking, I looked at Nate and thought desperately what to do. 

“A flight attendant!” Nate turned to the rear of the plane to wave one down. It was too late. I grabbed my coat and got sick into my hands. The flight attendant came just in time to see me holding waffle fries that were wishing very much to be somewhere else. We quickly explained to the flight attendants and surrounding passengers that it was “my condition” that had caused the sickness, which I hoped would assuage any fears of the masked gentleman beside me. They scrambled and brought me trash bags, water, and the wipes with so much alcohol in them I thought I was going to be sick again. The gentleman next to me sensed my discomfort and pulled out several packets of less potent wipes. 

“I always take a few from my gym,” he smiled. 

Airplanes put you next to all kinds of people. What a guy.