How Oprah, My Underwear, and a Small Airline Screwed Me Over on the Same Day
Is it possible to die of embarrassment?
Hot Stuff
The day started superbly. I appeared on an episode of Oprah, promoting my new book on mothers and daughters. I had done a local show before that, and it had gone very well.
As I emerged from the limo at the airport, I had an attack of coolness that I’ve aspired to my whole life. I had great make-up, and my hair was perfect. I just wished I had some shades.
Boarding looked slow, so I ducked into the restroom. While I was waiting, the producer of Oprah called to tell me that some other people on the show were upset at the direction of their segment. They decided not to air the show.
She was extremely apologetic, but the whole time, I’m thinking, “Is it dishonest to say I was ‘on Oprah,’ even though it was just ‘studio audience’ Oprah?”
I stopped at the mirror to admire the remnants of my glory. Then I heard the announcement that boarding was going to begin, and rushed into a stall and quickly did my business.
Losing my “cool”
As I was walking toward the line, I noticed people nodding and smiling at me. “My book must be hot,” I congratulated myself. I can’t believe that so many people watched the morning show I’d done.
But then I began to notice that people weren’t exactly smiling at me. They were stepping back in amusement or empathy.
I got in line. The woman behind me tapped my shoulder, and in a large whisper asked, “Do you know that your dress is stuck up into your pantihose?”
Before asking if she could help, she mounted an all-out assault on my underwear. She jammed her hand down my incredibly tight Spanx and rooted around there like she was searching for loose change.
In the process, she gave me a huge wedgie, then shook her head, painfully dislodged her hand, and walked away.
Some guy who thought he was cool, but definitely wasn’t, walked by and gave me one of those “sexy man” stares as he surveyed my ass, nodded, and said, “Nice.”
It was clear that my sorry situation was preflight entertainment for many weary travelers.
In these kinds of moments, I pray for a crack in the atmosphere, just enough for me to instantly disappear. But there was no exit. I just had to wrap my coat over the whole mess.
One thing was clear. I was no longer cool.
The plane
The tiny, somewhat frayed plane had a small aisle, so there was no hiding from my fellow passengers.
I wondered if it was actually possible to die of embarrassment
My seat was next to an elderly woman who spoke no English. Her terror was obvious in the finger imprints she left on the arm cushion.
Once our plane was in line for takeoff, “Captain Bob” announced in his genetically programmed pilot voice, “Hi folks. The weather is a little overcast, but we’ll have you to DC on time.”
Then Tammy, the sole flight attendant, whose expression never changed, gave a rundown of the many safety features to use in case of disaster. My favorite was the implication that the puny seat cushions could be used as flotation devices.
Then Tammy came to the most important information — snack and beverage service. She announced that she would only be handing out free complimentary water. A majority of passengers groaned at the deprivation of alcohol, for which we were probably well overdue.
Trouble on the horizon
The weather worsened with hard driving rain and lightning. Twenty minutes into the flight, my complimentary water began to quake in my cup.
“Folks,” Captain Bob broke in, “we’re experiencing some mild turbulence.” Those two words should never go together. “But just hang in there and we’ll be back on course in a jiffy.”
Jiffy is one of those squishy words that mean nothing, especially when you’re in a plane that is becoming increasingly unstable.
The unfriendly sky
With darker skies and some tilting, we all knew the situation was more dire than Captain Bob had led us to believe. Some passengers began to quietly freak out, asking frightened questions to no one in particular.
The plane dropped abruptly. Items flew from the overhead bins. The woman next to me gripped my arm and shouted in what I thought was Korean.
“Folks,” said a more ruffled Captain Bob, “Tammy will be coming around to give you any help you need.” From the looks of it, Tammy had no intention of moving from her secure little jump seat in the front.
Suddenly, the dingy yellow oxygen masks dropped down and danced around people's faces. It became immediately clear that no one had really paid attention to the directions. Panic grew. Tammy just sat there. The plane lurched up and down. Our heads hit the ceiling. I couldn’t feel my ass.
With strike precision, the lady next to me started to vomit. It was Exorcist vomiting, explosive and surprising from such a small woman. Now, no words were necessary. Vomiting is a universal language.
When I reached the seat back, I found that the barf bags must have been made to scale for little planes. They were more like sandwich bags with little wire fasteners. I filled hers and then mine. There was nowhere to dispose of them, so I stuffed them in my pockets.
I held a bag up so Tammy could manage the situation. The bitch didn't move. I reached across the aisle and got more bags, which I filled and stashed. The rest went directly on me. I made a mental note to get Tammy nailed for insubordination.
People were cursing and praying out loud. We were toast. It went on for several minutes, which felt like an hour. For a day that began exceptionally well, I reflected that it had really gone downhill precipitously. Screw Oprah, great makeup, and being cool. I was just shooting for ending the day alive.
Suddenly, the plane righted itself. Captain Bob came on, “Hey folks, sorry for the discomfort…” DISCOMFORT? A few people looked ready to knock Tammy over and storm the cockpit.
“It doesn't look like we’ll be making it to Washington, so we’ll be landing somewhere in Delaware, putting you up in a motel, and then getting you on the first flight tomorrow.”
“Like that’s gonna happen,” I thought. “Come to think of it, “somewhere in Delaware” was a troubling statement.
“Our landing may be a bit bumpy,” Bob continued, “so I'm going to ask Tammy to demonstrate the proper landing position.” Yeah, I’ve heard it called, the “bend over and kiss your ass goodbye” stance.
The vomiting lady was desperate to know what Captain Bob said. Trying to communicate it in sign language was demanding and didn’t comfort her at all. I pressed the call button repeatedly, but Tammy had checked out of the fiasco sometime before.
All I could do was stroke her arm and then grip her hand. I kept nodding, like “Okay, Okay. We’re okay,” which could have been one of the bigger lies of my life, but I was desperate.
We came in on what felt like cornstalks.
Exhausted and dazed in the chilly night air, we searched for our luggage. The screamers looked a bit chagrined. I was covered in vomit and couldn’t stand up straight. I led my totally bewildered neighbor to the staff who met us.
“You better take good care of her. I already have a killer letter in my head about your airline.” She and I squeezed hands. We were ready to hug, but assessed the mutual damage and concluded that a smile would have to do.
Airline officials transported us to a cinderblock building that looked more like a detention center than a motel. All of a sudden, sandwiches and drinks flowed freely as we commiserated with each other.
This guy
There was this guy. There is always this one guy when alcohol is being served. He had to be on his fifth miniature. “Hey,” he pointed to me. “You’re the lady who…” He slurred, guffawed, and pointed to my ruffled clothes.
It was the ‘sexy man’ from the airport.
And then, it all just hit me. The beautiful book tour, getting kicked off Oprah, the revenge of Spanx, the stranger’s hand down my underwear, my brand-new clothes covered in vomit, my proximity to death…
He came way too close to me.
“Not now buddy,” I thought as I reached into my coat pockets and grabbed their contents. I held them right in front of him and snarled,
“Stop right there, Asshole.”
“I’ve got a load of vomit in my hands.”
“AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!”