I used to think that people watching was only something that my Grandpa and I enjoyed doing at the Randolph County Fair, or that my Dad and I enjoyed doing at Kroger in Oxford. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that people watching is actually a favorite pastime of a lot of my peers, and my years of experience people watching have also bolstered my initial inkling that we Americans are among the most sickening/impressive of all the sets available for observation.

Comedians exhaust this topic, but it’s undeniable that the best place to observe our species-wide idiotic nature is on an airplane. We complain about the food, the turbulence, and how long everything takes…but the main problem is the passengers. Where does the sense of entitlement come from? We are charged a mere $200 to have an entire crew of trained professionals launch us off the ground in an insanely complex steel tube loaded with jet fuel and advanced electronics, safely bring us back down an hour later half way across the country, and we still feel that the obnoxious Blackberry conversation with our frat brother about law school assignments is more important than the emergency water landing instructions.

I recently sat in the very back row on a late night flight from Baltimore to Dayton. Everything was perfect, and when we touched down and taxied to the gate, the people in the front of the plane began to exit their seats, remove their bags from the overhead compartments, and be on their way. Naturally, just like the 400 billion flights in the history of the world before this particular flight, most passengers seemed to understand that sitting in the back of the plane meant that they would be in the back of the pack when it came to getting off the plane. However, one mother, in her mid to late thirties, seated about two rows in front of me, scurried to get her bags out, as well as the bags of her two daughters, before anyone else had even gotten their seatbelt off. It didn’t really pay off. It never does.  It turns out that I got to listen to her bitching for 20 minutes in an otherwise silent and calm cabin.

HER VERBAL QUESTION: UGH! It’s so hot on this plane…why can’t they keep the air conditioner on and keep this sucker runnin’ for us?

MY MENTAL ANSWER: How about we let the pilot and crew worry about the mechanical intricacies of this beast, and the proper time to switch on and off the HVAC machinery, and you just eat tiny pretzels and stop creating a vomit colored cloud of attention around your family.

HER VERBAL QUESTION: I’m SO glad I’m off work tomorrow.

MY MENTAL ANSWER: Selling your ex-husband’s Playstation games on eBay and binge eating Ding-Dongs isn’t a job.

That gives me an idea. Ding-Dong-Bong. Ding Dongs and milk processed in a blender, then ingested through a beer bong. Anyway, I didn’t actually speak any of these responses, although I desired it, but her behavior did continue to decline.  The people getting off were now about five rows in front of her, and she told her daughter, “When you see movement, just go.” The daughter then pointed in frustration at the man in front of her and said, “People are still getting up in front of me. They’re not letting me out!”

Of all the people in front of us, one girl remained. One girl. A kind, patient, model passenger who waited her turn. She got up, started to shimmy her bag out, and then the hate filled woman literally said, “JESUS! Ma’am don’t do this! DO NOT DO THIS!”

I did emit a verbal response this time. It was a solid, sarcastic, drawn out, “WOW.” The girl gave her a scowl, but I feel that an “unintentional” suitcase wheel to the orbital bone might have been more effective. With her two daughters, (someone please help them), she stormed in front of the sweet girl, and was gone.

Mystery #1: Why did she say “Ma’am?” How can you interject a respectful, formal, female title in the midst of a bitch conniption? What does this mean?

 Mystery #2: Where is she in a hurry to be at 11:00 pm on a Sunday? Hell? Does Hell close at midnight? Is Hell even open on Sunday?

The best part of this entire story is that I was pretty much the last person to get off the plane and I stopped in the jetway for 30 seconds to get all my bags situated, and when I got inside the airport, I passed her before I got to the next gate. She had at least a five minute head start on me. She went through that entire dog and pony show only to walk through the airport slower than an old man in a wheelchair who is being pushed by another old man in a wheelchair. I hope her car didn’t start.