Three Bag Flight

Valdosta Georgia was in the news today. The reason is politics-related but my Valdosta experience has nothing to do with politics. 

I used to do a lot of business travel - up to eight flights a week. The trips blended together in my mind and were immediately forgotten which is, I believe, the way it should be.

And then, there was a rainy night in Georgia. Atlanta to Valdosta. Probably on American Eagle. Definitely on a small plane. It was, in fact, a dark and stormy night.  I knew how dark it was. I didn’t know how stormy it was. At least, my brain didn’t know. My stomach caught on quickly but did its best to hold on through the short flight.

We were getting close to Valdosta when I turned to the man across the aisle and asked if he would talk to me, just to distract me. He smiled, leaned on his armrest and said something like, “Sure I fly this route a lot.”

I replied. “Never mind. Too late.”

At my meeting the next day when people asked how my fight was, I answered that it was a three-bag flight. Only one exchange was a little different.

“When did you get in?”

“Last night.”

“Did you throw up?”

Looking back, I should have asked why were there three air-sickness bags in my seat pocket.

© 2024 Jane Kelly