I’ve never been superstitious, and I don’t believe in anything that would be considered supernatural. Good-luck charms, bad omens, evil spirits, witches, ghosts, aliens, and all such things are, in my opinion, myths, fallacies, legends, fabrications or delusions.I do, however, keep an open mind. Recently my beliefs on such matters were to be tested when my wife and I flew to the East Coast for a family wedding. There were a number of events on that trip that were, at the very least, unusual, and made me wonder if indeed there were ‘other forces’ at work.
My wife booked her flight for the trip well in advance, but it was a bit too early for me to commit. I didn’t know yet if I was even going to be able to go—you know, busy schedule and all that—so I was waiting until the date was closer to make the decision. The wedding was still several weeks away when my wife called me to the computer and told me to select my flights. That’s when I decided to go.
As a result of that delay in getting my tickets, I was unable to get seats on her flights, so we flew to Philadelphia separately—on the same day, but on separate planes. That was unprecedented. We of course have both flown individually on many occasions, but we had never taken different flights on the same day. If only one of us was flying, we always knew the other one was safe at home. I was more preoccupied than normal, thinking about how her flight was going, and hoping she made her connection.
We left early on a Tuesday morning, on different airlines, but our departures from Medford were only 15 minutes apart. And even though I had a layover in Denver, and hers was in Seattle, we were still scheduled to land in Philadelphia within 15 minutes of each other.
The first leg of my flight from Medford to Denver was uneventful, like most flights. Board, sit, snack, maybe nap, and try to ignore the other passengers while getting caught up on my reading; it was a normal, boring flight.
It was on the Denver-to-Philadelphia leg of the flight that the series of strange events began to occur.
I had boarded, and I was already seated when I noticed a woman a few rows up putting her carry-on in the overhead bin. I only noticed her because she was wearing a bright pink jacket, emblazoned on the back with “Miss Nevada” in big, white, sequined letters. She had long, dark brown hair, but I couldn’t really tell what the woman looked like. I only saw her from the back, so it was really just the jacket that I noticed.
Despite the jacket, it never even entered my mind that she might actually be a beauty pageant winner, I just automatically assumed it was a souvenir jacket. Still, there was something compelling about her. Perhaps it was simply the mystique of not knowing what she looked like.
There was nothing really unusual about this, and I only mention it here to keep events in chronological order, as this seemingly innocuous encounter will have more significance later.
When I fly, I always choose an aisle seat if one is available. It gives me a better view of what’s happening aboard the plane, and I can get up and move around without bothering anyone. It also provides some open space on one side so it doesn’t feel so crowded.
Sitting across the aisle in my row was a pleasant young mother and father with two small children. I had greeted them when they boarded. It was little more than just a “hello,” but I suspected from their accents that they were from England.
There was an older woman with them, occupying the aisle seat, who I assumed was the grandmother. She wasn’t particularly engaged with the family, but there seemed to be some relationship. For most of the flight, she sat very still, her hands folded in her lap, and she stared zombie-like at the back of the seat in front of her. Her eyes were very dark, and had the appearance of being somewhat sunken. She looked creepy, almost like she was sleeping with her eyes open. Or dead.
She was sitting right across the aisle from me—uncomfortably close. We hadn’t even taken off yet and she was giving me the willies. Why couldn’t it have been ‘Miss Nevada’ sitting there? At least I’d get a chance to see what she looked like.
The family spoke softly when they talked to each other, and would have been very quiet during the flight, except for having to respond to a constant barrage of pointless queries from the flight attendant.
That flight attendant, for unknown reasons, had taken a curious interest in this family. He spent considerable time there in the aisle talking to them during the flight. He stood facing them, leaning against the aisle seat just ahead of them...the same seat the old woman was staring at. If I had been occupying that seat, I would have been quite irritated to have that flight attendant’s butt in my space for nearly the whole flight. It destroys one benefit of having an aisle seat.
It was very distracting for me—too weird and too close. He was really encroaching on my aisle space too. I just wanted to relax and read my book.
I wondered why he didn’t have flight attendant duties to attend to. About the only time he left that family’s side was during the food service.
That unfortunate family endured pointless, inane drivel for thousands of miles. The dad suffered the brunt of it, as the mom seemed to successfully ignore him. My attempts were not successful.
At one point during his inquisition, the attendant started asking the dad about the kids. From among the several stupid questions he posed, this one question really stood out. It would have stood out in any situation. He asked: “Do the kids have accents yet?”
Do they have accents yet? What does that even mean? This was getting to be too much. The incredulous expression that overtook the poor dad’s face suggested he agreed with me.
By now I knew the background of the family. I didn’t want to, but the flight attendant’s incessant yammering, and the reluctant participation of the poor family made everyone in earshot privy to all the details of their lives. I couldn’t tune it out. I heard the whole story.
The family was English, as I had suspected. Born in England, raised in England, still lived in England. Not surprisingly, they spoke English…all of them, with the accents they shared with everyone else in their particular shire. Why wouldn’t the kids have the same accent? Wouldn’t they learn to pronounce words the way they heard everyone around them pronounced them? It’s not an accent if you live there, around everyone else who talks the same way you do. From the family’s perspective it was the idiot flight attendant that had the accent. If the family had been from Germany, would anyone ask, “Do the kids speak German yet?”
They say there are no stupid questions. They are wrong. He might just as well have asked these poor parents, “Do they have lungs yet?”
This is usually the place in a conversation where you slam the door, or hang up the phone, or simply walk away. None of those options were available to these unfortunate victims. They were essentially captives.
My mind had wandered off for a while, in a futile search for a way to justify the strange question, so I failed to hear the response, if one was offered. I don’t even know how anyone could answer this question, but I probably would have answered with my own question: “Did you have to pass any kind of test at all to get this job?”
If the kids had been born somewhere outside of England, I reasoned, and brought there after they learned to talk, it could have been a legitimate question. But we already knew they were all born and raised there, thanks to the flight attendant’s own exhaustive interrogation.
The grandmother figure was, like the rest of the family, very quiet, and she didn’t interact with the flight attendant at all. She barely interacted with the family, only briefly while they were boarding. It was almost as though she was trying not to be noticed. If that was her intention, she failed.
At one point later in the flight, while the flight attendant was finally off doing something more important, Grandma seized the opportunity to take a break from staring at the back of the seat. It was only then, when I saw her move, that I knew for sure that she was still alive.
She removed her wristwatch and stared at it, seemingly puzzled by it. She fumbled with it for a while, as if trying to maneuver it into position for something. The way she handled the watch suggested she didn’t know if she was right- or left-handed.
What the hell was she doing? Why was I even interested? I looked straight ahead while watching out the corner of my eye. I didn’t want to get caught looking at her. The thought of her looking at me frightened me a bit.
Finally, the watch must have been in the right position, because she paused for a moment.
Grandma was now holding the watch in her left hand, while holding the time-adjustment stem with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. That’s how a normal person would adjust the time. Twist the stem a few times and you’re there. I almost cheered for her, like you do for a toddler who uses the toilet for the first time. Yay!
But then she did something totally unexpected. She began rotating the watch, while holding the stem stationary. Struggling with it through several rotations, she paused each time around to check the time. I guessed she was setting her watch to the destination time zone—by turning the watch instead of the stem.
It was awkward to watch, and I can only imagine how awkward it was to perform. It would be like holding a spoon stationary in a bowl of pancake batter and then moving the bowl around to stir it. I was exhausted by the time she was finished. And dumbfounded!
This was one of the most bizarre things I have ever witnessed anyone do. I was almost certain that people in England adjust their watches the same way we do. Was she from ‘somewhere else?’
The events of this continuing saga—the flight attendant’s unnatural preoccupation with this family, his bizarre question, Grandma’s odd demeanor, and her inexplicable wrist watch episode—were turning this in to a very weird flight. And it was all happening right across the aisle.
I looked around to see if I was on a hidden-camera show. It really felt that unbelievable. But no one came and pointed to the camera.
The obvious explanation for Grandma’s behavior was that she was an alien. Being unfamiliar with the human body she was temporarily inhabiting, her hands behaved more like pinchers, and did not have the dexterity to rotate the stem of the watch. This makes much more sense than trying to believe that an adult Earthling—even one from England—adjusted a watch like that.
As for the flight attendant, I could excuse his behavior if he was a government agent, assigned to keep an eye on the alien woman. He was staying close, making conversation with the people sitting by her. He had simply run out of intelligent questions when, out of desperation, he asked about the kids’ accents. It is well known that Men in Black are socially awkward. In that context, it made perfect sense.
The flight attendant’s odd behavior continued, and the stupid questions went on unabated. He was doing nothing to dispel my theory. But, as bad as I felt for the family, I was grateful he hadn’t directed his attention my way.
As the flight progressed, I was eventually able to divert my attention to my reading, and we were probably within 500 miles of Philadelphia when we started experiencing some mild turbulence. It had been a very smooth flight up to that point. The seatbelt light was on, and the pilot suggested we remain seated. It was getting a little bumpy.
The surreal behavior of the odd characters continued, and now the weather was getting rough. I’m not the nervous type. In fact, I seldom worry about anything, but I have to admit that I was starting to feel a bit anxious. It just all seemed so weird. I felt like it was starting to get to me.
Right at that moment, ‘Miss Nevada’ strolled down the aisle toward the back of the plane. I could see her face now. She was absolutely beautiful! I suddenly forgot all about the freaks on my plane—and pretty much everything else.
As she passed that ever-present flight attendant, he didn’t try to move out of the way, or even seem to notice she was there. She squeezed around him sideways, facing me, and very much in my personal space. As she passed me, she looked right into my eyes and smiled. It was a warm, reassuring smile.
I smiled back at her, and I relaxed. I was suddenly feeling much better. She had defied the captain’s seatbelt order so she could comfort me. I knew there was something about her!
When ‘Miss Nevada’ returned to her seat, the flight attendant was still standing there talking to the English folks. She smiled again as she squeezed by.
I really did feel better, but the turbulence continued, and that obnoxious attendant remained in the aisle. The other flight attendant was signaling to him from the back of the plane, trying to get him to sit down and buckle up, but he kept brushing her off. His attitude seemed to be, ‘Don’t tell me to sit down. I know what I’m doing. Besides, these people love me.’
There is a very good chance that he was wrong about that. I’m pretty sure that family didn’t love him. I was certain that I didn’t. I was thinking, ‘Please go sit down. And shut up!’ But he didn’t.
I think he simply did not want to leave his post guarding the alien woman. If that was the case, it was admirable, but he could have done his job without being so obnoxious.
The turbulence was getting worse when we suddenly hit a wind shear, or a downdraft, or perhaps a swarm of locusts had clogged the engines…I don’t know what happened, but it felt like the plane dropped 2000 feet in 2 seconds. Everyone on board felt our stomachs being shoved up into our chests.
As the plane dropped, the flight attendant was lifted several inches off his feet, and he ended up on his ass on the floor in the middle of the aisle. I struggled to keep from laughing. He sat up, crossed his legs and continued his conversation with the beleaguered passengers from the floor. He didn’t even flinch.
It was the worst bump I had ever felt in many years of cross-country flying. I was surprised the oxygen masks didn’t drop down. And all we heard from the pilot was, “Just a reminder: Keep those seat belts fastened.” Aye-aye, Cap’n. Everyone but your stupid flight attendant already had that one figured out!
Some passengers were visibly shaken. The plane had nearly fallen out of the sky, but I was never frightened, I didn’t feel like I was going to die. Perhaps it had been Miss Nevada’s calming smile.
That huge bump in the road was followed by 15 or 20 minutes of the roughest air travel I’ve ever expe-rienced. We were tossed up, down, sideways, and it felt like we were actually hitting things…big things.
When the turbulence finally ended, it ended suddenly. It went from bumpy as hell to smooth as glass just as quickly as it had started. There was no noticeable turbulence for the rest of the flight.On the approach to the Philadelphia airport, I was reflecting on the flight, and the strange events that took place. The wheels hit the runway with a thud, and the flight was finally over.
After getting off the plane in Philadelphia, I headed down to the baggage claim area. Miss Nevada was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she only had the carry-on.
My flight landed about 15 minutes before my wife’s plane was due, so after getting my luggage, I found my way over to her flight’s luggage carousel. I was the first one there, but passengers from her plane soon began arriving.
While standing there waiting, I couldn’t help but notice a tall, well-dressed young woman approaching the baggage area. At first, I didn’t think she was a passenger, she just looked out of place. But she walked over and joined the rest of us waiting for the carousel to start moving.
We were at the same end of the carousel, very close, and nearly facing each other. I got a very good look at her.
Not just beautiful, she was stunning, and she really stood out from the crowd. She was very tall, and she was much better dressed than any other passenger was. She was goddess, and she was waiting for her luggage right there with us mere mortals.
When my wife finally arrived, she noticed the goddess too. She pointed her out to me, and asked, “Do you see that woman over there?” That caught me off guard. Had I been that obvious? Had my wife seen me staring at her?
I said that I hadn’t noticed her. I lied. I had to. It was either that, or: “Are you kidding? Of course I saw her. Look at her. She is dazzling. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her...When did you get here?”
My wife told me that the woman had been on her flight. She was Miss Texas, and was on her way to the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City. Apparently, all 52 contestants were converging on the city for the big pageant that weekend. I don’t follow those things. I had no idea.
In light of this revelation, I thought back to my own flight. My ‘Miss Nevada’ probably was Miss Nevada! She certainly was beautiful enough. And she had the jacket and everything!
All in all, it was a very unusual flight. I encountered an alien or a zombie, maybe both, an agent from a super-secret government agency, and I shared a special moment with a Miss America contestant. I survived a potential catastrophic failure with the plane, and after landing, I encountered a goddess.
Upon reflection, I thought my Miss Nevada and my wife’s Miss Texas, had to have bigger roles in this adventure. They were obviously associated, at least through the beauty pageant.
I considered the possibility that Miss Nevada was my guardian angel who kept me safe during that potentially deadly turbulence. There is no doubt that she had a calming effect on me: I didn’t run down the aisle screaming, “We’re all going to die!” My wife had flown through the same turbulence a few minutes after I had. She didn’t experience the locust swarm, but she did say it was the roughest flight she could remember. I thought Miss Texas might have been her guardian angel on that plane.
As I have said, I don’t believe in the supernatural, but it really didn’t seem that far-fetched considering the other occurrences on the flight.
There were 52 Miss America contestants from all over the country. They had hundreds of different flights and several possible departure days to choose from. How is it that my wife and I each had a contestant on our flights, almost a week before the pageant? And Miss Texas was flying from Seattle! Could it have been a simple coincidence, or were there other forces involved?
My brief visit to Philadelphia was pleasantly uneventful. The wedding was nice, but by Sunday, the day of my flight home, I was ready to go. My wife was staying a couple more days. So again, I was flying solo.
The first leg of my flight home was totally uneventful. I honestly don’t remember anything about it. The second leg of that flight, however, is one that I will never forget.
It appeared my otherworldly adventure was about to resume because, in Salt Lake City, I had a close encounter with another goddess!
I had already found my seat on the plane, and I was getting settled in when I first saw her coming down the aisle. She was tall, at least 6 feet, and her legs must have accounted for over half of that height. Her long, pale golden hair flowed gracefully around her beautiful face.
As she made her way down the aisle, she wasn’t even looking at the seat numbers. It seemed like she already knew exactly where her seat was. She paused frequently, waiting patiently for passengers to stow their carry-on bags and get seated. I was patient, too. The longer she took, the longer I could enjoy the view. She would soon find her seat, and I would never see her again.
When I checked in online the evening before, I selected my seat on the aisle, and the other two seats next to mine remained unclaimed at that time. Until this moment, I had hoped to have them all to mself. But now I thought I might enjoy some company. I would gladly share my row with this passenger. I think the gods owed me one after that flight through hell to Philadelphia.
With every empty seat that she passed on her way toward me, I celebrated: “YES!” Even though she was getting closer, I still considered it a very remote possibility that she would be sitting next to me. I simply couldn’t be that lucky.
The thought barely had time to form when she stopped at my seat and without saying a word, motioned that she had the window seat... my window seat. Astonished, I scrambled to get up to let her in before she changed her mind, or realized she had made a mistake. But she reached down, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with a very sexy accent, “No, stay poot.”
She was tall enough and her legs were long enough that she climbed right over me to her seat without my having to get up. I was astonished again.
The word ‘climbed’ doesn’t accurately describe how she moved. It was so smooth and effortless, she may have been a gazelle in a previous life. One graceful, fluid movement, from standing in the aisle, to sitting in her seat, and as she passed, the butt of a goddess floated by only two inches from my smiling face.
If it’s sacrilegious to discuss a goddess’s butt, I apologize, but it was the highlight of my trip, and the whole point of this otherwise pointless tale.
I thought, ‘Is this really happening?’ I kept looking down the aisle, expecting a husband or boyfriend to come sit between us. None came. Soon enough, the cabin door was closed, the plane was moving, and it was just the two of us.
I was in Heaven, and seated next to a goddess who was wearing skin-tight workout pants. She might just as well have been wearing body paint; that thin fabric hid nothing as she floated by me. I have a wonderful imagination, but it went unused. She was truly spectacular!
Later, when she had to get up, I started to stand up to let her out, but she shook her head as she stood, and before I knew it, she was in the aisle. She just got up and stepped over me, just as she had when she boarded.
She was not gone very long when a gentle tap on my shoulder signaled her return. I still hadn’t recovered from the last pass.
After she sat down, she told me there was another empty row further back if I wanted to have three seats to myself. How could she know I had expected three seats? I told her I was perfectly happy where I was. She smiled. I thought, she could just as easily have moved if she wanted to be alone, but she stayed with me.
I felt like I was being tested. I hate these tests! I know the correct answer, but I really thought about failing. I would have failed miserably!
Her name was Inga, at least that’s the closest I could get from her heavy Swedish accent. She smiled and nodded when I repeated it. Apparently she thought I got it close enough.
If I had to guess her age, I’d say she was 24. But a goddess can live forever, so I really had no idea.
After we had settled in, Inga pulled out a huge volume of “The Far Side” cartoons she had brought to read on the plane. When I saw it I said, “I love Gary Larson.” That made her smile, and she scooted over into the empty middle seat closer to me, and we enjoyed the book together. We chuckled. We laughed out loud. And sometimes we just looked at each other, perplexed, until one of us would say, “Oh, now I get it!” Then we laughed again.
Inga was delightful.
For a while during the flight, Inga was writing some greeting cards. I couldn’t read what she was writing; it was in Swedish. I pretended to read my book while I watched her write.
She filled out several cards, pausing thoughtfully, choosing just the right words. I imagined those cards would be going to her friends back home, telling them about her trip. I also imagined she was telling her friends about the charming older man she was lucky to share the flight with. I’m sure she told them how happy she was that I turned down the offer to change seats. That had to be it.
It was an amazing three hours. I was thoroughly enchanted. I was sad as the plane landed in Medford.
Inga had only a large shopping tote with her on board, which held the Gary Larson book, greeting cards and a few smaller things. She had stowed nothing in the overhead compartment. I thought it was strange that she was not at the baggage claim. She simply disappeared, and I never saw her again.
As I waited for my luggage, I began to wonder if maybe Inga had been my guardian angel on that flight, and for some reason known only to her and the gods, she decided to personally accompany me. There was nothing else out of the ordinary on the flight, and there were no other odd passengers, distractions, turbulence or in-flight emergencies. I would never have noticed anyway. If that was her job, she could not have done it any better. I wish I could have could have told her supervisor.
In retrospect, it turns out the book I had taken to read on the plane, Carl Sagan’s “The Demon-Haunted World,” was a strangely appropriate choice.
There I was, experiencing all sorts of strange, supernatural events, all the while reading a book that was dedicated to dispelling all such nonsense! What kinds of forces were at work on me? Was my book choice just another odd coincidence? Was Carl Sagan wrong? Was I?
Were my impressions of events subconsciously affected by what I read?
It’s possible, even likely, that none of my experiences on that trip were at all unusual. The world is filled with weird people doing weird things. There are lots of very beautiful women. I married one. There are hundreds of past, present and future Miss America contestants flying all over the world. No aliens. No zombies. No guardian angels. Just people being people.In my eyes, Inga was a goddess. But if she was not my guardian angel, and the plane had crashed, I would have been buried with a smile on my face.
Scott Wright © 2017