I flew into Washington/Dulles International Airport yesterday. While it is good to be back in NoVA, I miss my family. Stacy and the girls will be staying in UT for a few weeks while she helps out a family member.
I generally pride myself on my airplane manners. I don't make a lot of noise, I keep to myself, and I do not encroach on my fellow passenger's space. That is probably the reason it irks me so much when other people don't use any manners. Case in point: a family of six sat in the row behind me. I was in the window seat, and one of the sons was in the middle seat behind while his dad was next to him in the aisle seat. I put the boy somewhere between 9 and 10 years of age. As soon as they sat down, the son began screaming everything he says at the top of his lungs. I was annoyed, but I thought to myself, "Just live with it. As soon as the plane is cruising I can break out my laptop and noise-cancelling headphones." So that's what I did. For the next three hours I listened to music while I did some school reading and watched a few episodes of Justice League Unlimited kindly provided by Jon. Everything was fine until the pilot told the passengers to stow all electrical devices to prep for landing. As soon as my headphones were off the aural assault began. I gritted my teeth and picked up my book. Ever try to concentrate on reading when the voice of a kid that is the equivalent to an air raid siren is washing over you? It's difficult. "That's it," I thought, "At the very least, I can spare us all 15 minutes of quiet as we land." I turned in my seat and politely asked the father, "Is that your boy?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Would you mind asking him to quiet down a bit?" I asked nicely.
"No. I can't, he's autistic!" he replied, eyes widened in defensive shock and anger.
Yes, I'm the asshole that told the autistic kid to shut the hell up.
Okay, I'm the bad guy. I can handle that. What I didn't get was the father's angry response. I didn't know the kid was autistic. Was I supposed to assume? Should I have asked him? "Hey, is your kid autistic or are you just a bad father?" You think he'd appreciate me assuming that his boy didn't have a condition. Aren't we all supposed to view people with handicaps as being handicapable?
So, as the plane taxied to the terminal and gently nuzzled up to the jetway, I performed the Walk of Shame out of the gate. I could feel the father's angry stare as I slung on my backpack and made my way up the cramped corridor between the seats. On the way out I tipped over an old lady in a wheelchair because she was going to slow, kicked the crutches out from a girl with a broken leg because she was in my way, and spit on a little boy with cerebral palsy because he couldn't fight back. Go me!
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