Around this same time last year Jeff, Jayce and I (the girls were at Dad camp) flew to California to be with my grandparents as they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary (Happy belated Anniversary!).  The short flight from here in Southern Arizona to my hometown in California is relatively painless; the only bad thing is that we have to do the puddle jumping flight to Phoenix and switch planes there.  No biggie right?  Well, usually.

When we boarded the plane in Tucson I was very pleased with my seat assignment.  The three of us took up a whole row, and we didn’t have anybody huge, loud, smelly, or obnoxious in our vicinity.  It was a completely uneventful twenty minute flight.

Okay, so we change planes in Phoenix and at first everything is fine.  The row in front of us in completely empty on both sides of the aisle.  That is, of course, until the family we’ll refer to from here on out as Brentwood boards the plane and proceeds to fill the row in front of us.  Brentwood is a family of four: Dad, Mom, brother, sister.  Dad and Mom are both in their late 30′s, early forties maybe.  Brother appears to be around ten and sister, a couple years older I think.  Dad and brother are George and Chet respectively.  We don’t know mom and sister’s real names because George and Chet aren’t as chatty as mom.  We, however, have taken it upon ourselves to name Mom ‘Ilene’ and sister ‘Dottie’ because it aids in the retelling of the story.

Chet is the first down the aisle and, lucky me, he opts for the window seat in the row in front of us.  That choice puts him directly in front of Jeff.  Dad, in what I’ve come to assume was an attempt to put some distance between himself and Ilene, takes the aisle seat directly in front of me.  Dottie takes the window seat opposite her brother and Mom takes the aisle seat directly across from George.  As all of this is taking place Ilene is compelled to narrate the event.  For the benefit of who?  I don’t know.  Perhaps her family has grown accustomed to that type of thing from her and they don’t know how to operate otherwise.  Chet wants to sit by the window does he?  Daddy is going to sit with Chet.  Dottie, you and I will sit over here.  Just across the aisle.  Daddy and Chet will be right there.  Won’t you George?

George doesn’t answer.  He doesn’t even nod or raise an eyebrow.  Instead he plops his expansive heiny into the seat.  Then, as I should have expected, he proceeds to recline his chair to the fullest extent which, had he been the least bit inclined, probably would have given him a pretty good view of my nosehairs.

Ilene immediately starts in on George.  I feel much less sorry for him now that he has invaded every centimeter that $300 ticket of mine afforded me.

Ilene: George, did you put my carry-on in the overhead bin?
George: Yes dear.
Ilene: Did you check to make sure it wasn’t tipped?
George: Yes dear.
Ilene: I would hate for my contact solution to spill all over my spare cashmere socks.
George: It’s upright dear.
Ilene: Does Chet have something to read over there?
George: Yes dear.
Ilene: Do you have something?  I brought that new John Grisham book.
George: Okay, I’ll read that.
Ilene: Well, it’s just up in my carry-on.  Where did you say you put it?
George: Never mind.  I’m fine dear.

Keep in mind that Jeff and I were flying with a 10 month old.  I would be willing to bet though that every single person on that flight would have preferred to share space with our infant than with Brentwood.

The flight attendants make their way through the cabin asking the passengers to remain upright for takeoff and to keep tray tables latched and yada yada yada.  George ignores the upright position bit.  It seems Ilene’s constant yakking has served to wear down his listening skills.

The flight attendant comes by again and this time places a hand on George’s shoulder asking him to put his seat into the upright position for takeoff.  He does.  Until she fastens herself into one of those rear-facing seats for takeoff.  As soon as she’s out of sight he reclines his seat again.

Into my lap.

Jeff is starting to get a bit perturbed at this point, as am I, but what can you do right?  Well, if you are my equality seeking husband you proceed to “accidentally” knock into George’s seat as you rummage through the diaper bag for something to keep Jayce occupied.  You maybe even bump into it a few more times as you bend to pick up your magazine.  And if you inadvertently jerk on the tray table just a bit as you are trying to find the Starbucks mint container from my purse then it certainly isn’t intentional.

Boys will be boys I guess.

It’s all for naught though because George remains reclined throughout the entire flight.  He’s feigning sleep but Ilene isn’t swayed and continues to ask for assistance with her Sudoku puzzle and tries to discuss whether or not they should look for a new pool boy.

Jayce, meanwhile, goes on to be the model passenger and is completely entertained by chewing and drooling profusely on the tin of spearmints that I long ago stopped eating from because all that drool seeped inside the lid and left my spearmints just a tad sticky and warped.  Yum.

At some point during the flight Jayce dozes off into a cranberry juice and pretzel induced nap.  Ilene and Dottie talk amongst themselves (to the delight of all nearby passengers) and George, in his nearly horizontal state, drifts into a deep sleep.

And all is right on Delta flight 284 to California.

As we begin to descend into the vineyard covered hills of the Central Coast, I hear that familiar rattling of the Starbucks mint tin but I’m pretty sure Jayce dropped it awhile back during his nap.

Sure enough, I peer through the space between the seats and see that young Chet has discovered the mint tin.

Oh friends.  I wish I could convey to you in mere words the humor of what happened next.  Alas, I can’t but suffice it to say it was darn near one of the funniest things that I’ve had the privilege of bearing witness to in all my thirty years.

Chet: Dad, is spearmint hot?
George: No son.
Chet: Oh, okay. (He proceeds to pour a couple of mints into his hand).
George: Starbucks, huh?  I’d like to try a couple of those.
Chet: (clearly soaking up the attention from Dad) Sure!

And then George, in the first attempt to initiate interaction with Ilene that I’ve witnessed since they boarded the plane, reaches across the aisle and offers the tin to Ilene and Dottie who both accept.

Ilene: These are great George.  Did you get them at the Starbucks in Phoenix?
George: No.
Ilene: Where did you get them?
George: Chet found them.
Ilene: You’re kidding right?
George: No, I’m not.  They were on the floor under his seat.

Ilene’s face, my friends, was priceless.  I wish it would have been socially acceptable and logistically convenient for me to snap a photo of her in the moment that she realized that her husband had not only offered her a breath freshner that came from the floor of the airplane, but that he had allowed not one, but both of his children to partake as well.

You can imagine how difficult it was for me to stifle my laughter.  And to try to tell my less than observant husband what had just occurred through the stifling of my laughter.

And that, my friends, will forever go down as a great example as to why you a) should be considerate of others when you are traveling in tight spaces and b) should never ingest something that you found on the floor of the airplane.

Revenge is so much sweeter when it’s inadvertent isn’t it?