I’m no Carl Jung and I have no interest, credentials, or cranial capacity to continue Pavlov’s work in classical conditioning, but there has always been one phenomenon that no matter how many times I witness it, it baffles me. It matters not the distance of the flight, the airline, the relative ease of turbulence or the country, departing, arriving, or otherwise. I’ve seen it in the UAE, New Zealand, Chile, every province within Canada (not including the weirdo provinces like The Northern Territory and the Yukon or Ontario), throughout America, and all of Europe. There is some sort of conditioned response to that “ding” when the plane has finally reached the gate upon landing. That rush and furry of seatbelts unlocking. The frenzy to jockey for position in the aisle and for what, to stand uncomfortably for 20 minutes pretending to look at your phone while the planeload of people ahead of you de-plane?
I’ve come up with some theories as to what people are thinking:
“If I’m the first one out of my seat with my bag in hand I’ll get to get off the plane first, no matter if I’m in seat 42F. I was first so I get to go first.”
“Holy shit, was that stewardess right? Did my items in the overhead bins really shift during take-off and landing? I better hurry up and check.”
“I think that guy across the aisle was eyeing my bag. I better get to it before that asshole does.”
I’m an aisle guy and I never stand up immediately unless I’m sitting bulkhead or in the first few rows. I just don’t see the point. At times, this can infuriate the people sitting next to me. I don’t care. I pack my shit up and I’m ready to go, but I’ll keep my book out and just keep reading. I look up to check how far down the line people are moving, but I don’t move until it’s my turn. At which point I grab my laptop bag, close my book, stand and grab my overhead bag in pretty much one motion and I don’t delay anyone.
One of the funnier experiences I had was a flight from someplace in Europe to Zurich. “Ding” and this older fellow sitting next to me in the middle seat springs up like some little kid got to the end of cranking the lever on one of those “pop goes the weasel” toys . I didn’t move. He’s looking at me, looking at the other people, and flat out did not know what to do. I could tell he didn’t want to sit back down, but he couldn’t exactly stand straight up either so he sort of stood slanted with his head and shoulders on the back of the seat and his ass in the air. A half stand, half sit if you will. Now I thought I was stubborn, but he sitood there for at least twenty minutes. By the end his legs were shaking. I’m a jerk, I know, but because I haven’t been conditioned I wasn’t one of the first ones up so there really was nowhere for me to go…even if I had wanted to. Thank god I always wear a Canadian flag pin when traveling abroad because that little Swiss bastard now hates Canada (aka Americas Hat).
