In Transit

My flight was delayed 6 hours after my original flight because the plane was “BROKEN”?!? So I took the midnight plane to Heathrow International. I located my seat, and was a little dismayed to see that it was in the wheelchair accessible seat. But upon inquiry I was to learn that oh, no, this was not the wheelchair seat, it was the EMERGENCY EXIT seat. The stewardess must have seen the expression of fear on my face as I inspected the flimsy plastic panel covering a hole which I resisted opening, and the old carpeted panelling covering the EXIT. She bent down and asked me, “Are you sure you are comfortable sitting here? Because you’ll need to open the door like this”:

And she did a fake demonstration of pulling down the lever with great force.

“So basically, if the plane crashes…,” I said.

At which point the man sitting behind me stands up and says, “OK, I think everyone is feeling very comfortable with this conversation,” and then starts speaking in rapid tones to the stewardess. She asked us if we wanted to change seats, and of course the answer to her question was yes. I wanted to sleep in the empty row beside me anyway.

What was even more bizarre was that on my next flight from Heathrow to Delhi, I was again placed next to the EMERGENCY EXIT. This time, it was beside the wing. So, basically, upon hearing the words, “This is an emergency! EVACUATE! EVACUATE! EVACUATE!” I was to yell, “Open your seatbelts, and take nothing with you!”, open the door, CLIMB OUT ONTO THE WING, and wait for further instructions from the stewardess. Ok, I’m not exactly sure how well I would have been able to follow through with this, but I’ve seen enough James Bond and Wesley Snipes movies that I’m sure I could have pulled it off.