In honor of my sister’s “leaving on a jet plane” yesterday, I’ve decided it’s time to wrap up […]
Author: michellejunot.com
As someone who really enjoys their quiet, internal time, I can assure you that I do not make these new airplane-friends on purpose. I think I must just have a face that says, “Tell me your life story beginning with your most traumatic memory, because I’ll listen.”
My flight was delayed in November.
It happens. Especially in November. And December, too. And then there’re the summer months because everyone’s going on vacation. Oh, and holiday weekends cause a bit of trouble as well. There’s the occasional weather delay—if not here, it’s where you’re headed. And who hasn’t experienced the “there’s something wrong with the plane” delay. (That’s my favorite actually. Except I don’t like when we end up leaving on that same plane.)
Remember when I half-promised-sorta that I was going to post several blogs about my air travels in one week. That was cute, wasn’t it? Two weeks later…One of my favorite parts of any plane experience, is the safety instructions. It’s fun to see the first time flyers trying to remember everything. You can almost hear their frantic eyes saying, “Wait. What do I do in the unlikely event of a water landing? Should I be taking notes? Why is everyone so calm?” Then there’s the frequent flyers who rarely even quiet their conversations to “turn their attention to the flight attendant who has some important safety instructions for them.”
Last semester I found myself sitting on planes quite often. I don’t mean this in a figurative way like I rediscovered my soul or anything of that nature. Nor do I mean to imply that I was sleep-traveling (although, how neat would that be?). I simply mean to say that I traveled a lot via airplane during the months of November and December. (I suppose I could have just said it that way to begin with, but I didn’t want to. Deal with it.)
I wouldn’t say I was a “frequent flyer,” but I would tell anyone who’d listen that I could get through security—shoes off, coat off, scarf off, giraffe necklace off, change out of pocket, laptop out of bag, liquids in a clear quart-sized Ziploc, boarding pass out, small talk with security guard, shoes back on, scarf and coat in hand to put on later, giraffe necklace thrown in bag with laptop and liquids, change forgotten in plastic bin—in under two minutes. This is, of course, if I was among other non-novices. If a first time flyer was anywhere in front of me, all bets were off.
I’m at Starbucks near the harbor—close enough to mention, far enough to park for free—and I’m supposed to be writing about a past, flawed relationship. But facing my own naivety doesn’t seem near as fun as people watching, so I choose the latter.
Small groups of people are scattered around the patio, swapping life’s disappointments or the promise of the upcoming weekend, and I sit alone at a table for two.
An older, red Honda pulls into the parking space in front with the unmistakable crunch of bumper hitting concrete. There’s a collective gasp and the chatter momentarily stops. Mouths hang ajar as they watch the car reverse slowly, producing a scrape rather than a crunch this time.
When the older gentleman (maybe 60) steps out of the car, he smirks at the onlookers and I turn away. I’m embarrassed for him, although he seems relatively unaffected. The patio crowd continues to point at the car and talk about the event, even after he walks inside. They’re acting as though he rolled over a box of kittens, their blood giving his car its audacious color. He crunched his bumper. It happens.
I think of myself as a humble person. That’s why I have my own blog. (Actually, it’s two blogs and an online portfolio.) But modest as I am, I must confess that in the past I was somewhat of a legend. A grammar legend. My friends and family would never admit it because, well, they were probably jealous, but it’s true.
I knew the rules, the exceptions, and when to pause for effect. Like here. Not only did I know how to diagram a sentence; I could do it in less than a minute. I was even part of human sentences that were then verbally diagrammed by our eighth grade class. I was always the comma. (Thanks Mrs. Gilbert; that was a good week.)
These days I’m feeling less confident and certainly less cocky (about grammar). I remember the terms, and I remember the rules…but I cannot remember which terms go with which rules and don’t even get me started on those exceptions! And pauses? I fear that I pause too much: it’s disruptive. I need a refresher course in grammar.
For months, I have tried to write a successful first blog. I first tried to write witty pieces, but their second and third drafts produced material that can only be described as lacking. In other versions I confessed that I had no idea what I was doing, but begged my reader to trust me anyway because, ignorant or not, I intended to blog well. (That draft was promptly discarded. After all, who ever heard of being honest with your audience? Laughable.) Desperate drafts recounted stories like the time I watched a grandmother eat her grandson’s chili in silence at theBarnes and Noble Starbucks café while he played with her iPhone. Still, others tried to incorporate all these elements, failing as miserably as if it hadn’t incorporated any at all. As a compulsive perfectionist (a possibly hypochondriacal condition), these failed attempts and continued lack of blog, troubled me greatly.
Then, one night, as I gazed up at an overcast sky that was anything but inspiring, a solution came to me: change the rules. Ignoring the basic principles of syntax, I decided to create my second blog first. This would take all the pressure off the first, perfect blog, while simultaneously making any reader a returning reader. That’s right; I’ve instantly created michellejunot.com blog groupies. Welcome.