“If only I hadn’t ordered the tallest glass of beer during my layover,” Ella thought while trying not to squirm in her seat on the small Beechcraft plane that was winging her and eight other passengers from New York’s LaGuardia airport to Patrick Leahy International in Burlington, Vermont.
"It's just a short hop," she reminded herself while casting her eyes around the cabin in search of a bathroom door. If this little plane had one, it was well-hidden and there were no flight attendants to query, the only being two pilots who were behind a closed cockpit door.
“If only I had gone to the bathroom before they called my flight...”
“If only I hadn’t been too cheap to get a flight on a real plane...”
"If only were weren't flying over water..."
The more she “if only”-ed, the more Ella wished for a pickle jar, the wide-mouthed kind her parents used to keep in their car for Ella and her siblings to use on long road trips. But there was no such jar here and it was becoming painfully obvious that her bladder would not outlast the ninety-minute trip across Lake Champlain. To make matters worse, the plane hit turbulence, much like hitting every pothole in the sky.
As Ella considered the inevitable, humiliating choice — wetting herself and her plane seat — the woman sitting across the aisle from her leaned over and touched Ella’s elbow.
“Are you airsick, honey?”
“No,” Ella replied, not sure what to say. But as she looked into the woman’s face, Ella recognized empathy so she launched in and explained her predicament. In the process Ella had an epiphany. The airsick bag in her seatback was waterproof. All she needed was a little privacy. And this kind seeming fellow passenger was wearing a midi-length godet-style blue jean skirt with plenty of flare. Ella whispered her idea to the woman who, after some hesitation, nodded her complicity.
The two moved to the front of the airplane, stopping right outside the closed cockpit door. Ella explained the situation to the young couple sitting in the first two seats of the plane. They were visibly aghast but nodded their understanding then averted their eyes. Ella squatted over the bag while her very own Good Samaritan stood guard, skirt held out like a bull-fighter’s cape.
It seemed to take forever as evidenced by the fact that her human shield was murmuring sotto voce over her shoulder “Are you through yet?” So long, in fact, that Ella wondered if the bag was big enough or if the pilots would suddenly open the cockpit door and find her mooning them. There were probably FAA rules against this kind of thing.
But those fears did not materialize and, her bladder finally emptied, Ella stood, sealed the bag, and the two women returned quickly to their seats as Ella murmured "Thank you" over and over again.
Ella stashed the bag under her seat for safekeeping till she could take it to a bathroom once they disembarked then clicked her seatbelt and sighed deeply, occasionally glancing at the woman across the aisle who did not make eye contact with her.
They did not speak again until the pilot announced their descent and the woman again again touched Ella’s elbow and spoke.
“My mother always told me that if I did something good for someone, I would go to heaven. I’m going to heaven now.”
“Yes,” said Ella. “Yes, you are.”
— Katjack
"It's just a short hop," she reminded herself while casting her eyes around the cabin in search of a bathroom door. If this little plane had one, it was well-hidden and there were no flight attendants to query, the only being two pilots who were behind a closed cockpit door.
“If only I had gone to the bathroom before they called my flight...”
“If only I hadn’t been too cheap to get a flight on a real plane...”
"If only were weren't flying over water..."
The more she “if only”-ed, the more Ella wished for a pickle jar, the wide-mouthed kind her parents used to keep in their car for Ella and her siblings to use on long road trips. But there was no such jar here and it was becoming painfully obvious that her bladder would not outlast the ninety-minute trip across Lake Champlain. To make matters worse, the plane hit turbulence, much like hitting every pothole in the sky.
As Ella considered the inevitable, humiliating choice — wetting herself and her plane seat — the woman sitting across the aisle from her leaned over and touched Ella’s elbow.
“Are you airsick, honey?”
“No,” Ella replied, not sure what to say. But as she looked into the woman’s face, Ella recognized empathy so she launched in and explained her predicament. In the process Ella had an epiphany. The airsick bag in her seatback was waterproof. All she needed was a little privacy. And this kind seeming fellow passenger was wearing a midi-length godet-style blue jean skirt with plenty of flare. Ella whispered her idea to the woman who, after some hesitation, nodded her complicity.
The two moved to the front of the airplane, stopping right outside the closed cockpit door. Ella explained the situation to the young couple sitting in the first two seats of the plane. They were visibly aghast but nodded their understanding then averted their eyes. Ella squatted over the bag while her very own Good Samaritan stood guard, skirt held out like a bull-fighter’s cape.
It seemed to take forever as evidenced by the fact that her human shield was murmuring sotto voce over her shoulder “Are you through yet?” So long, in fact, that Ella wondered if the bag was big enough or if the pilots would suddenly open the cockpit door and find her mooning them. There were probably FAA rules against this kind of thing.
But those fears did not materialize and, her bladder finally emptied, Ella stood, sealed the bag, and the two women returned quickly to their seats as Ella murmured "Thank you" over and over again.
Ella stashed the bag under her seat for safekeeping till she could take it to a bathroom once they disembarked then clicked her seatbelt and sighed deeply, occasionally glancing at the woman across the aisle who did not make eye contact with her.
They did not speak again until the pilot announced their descent and the woman again again touched Ella’s elbow and spoke.
“My mother always told me that if I did something good for someone, I would go to heaven. I’m going to heaven now.”
“Yes,” said Ella. “Yes, you are.”
— Katjack
I'm still amazed at how simply peeing is somehow shameful, at least in USA "civilized" society. Such drama around a simple bodily function, but you captured it well! Kind of uncomfortable even reading about it! --- Macoff
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