Parasites on the plane
Parasites on the Plane
I was in the Chicago airport hoping for an uneventful flight that would allow me to get some in some study-time. I'd always enjoyed being in the airport. Despite a few childhood experiences such as painstakingly crafting my doggy bag into a communication device by punching holes into the bag using the braille alphabet using a braille bookmark I'd gotten in the library earlier in the week, followed by losing my lunch on the landing that the airline industry has fostered in me expectations regarding their performance not much above those I hold for the DMV, I'm still surprised that no other airline besides southwest has devolved so far as to institute a boarding policy that requires for you to wrestle for seats with complete strangers 10 minutes prior to the requirement for you to sit politely next to them for the duration of the flight.. Either way, in this instance it worked out for me. Of course the aisle and windows seats fill up first, and if you have a boarding pass in the C-class, you can expect to be in the middle seat. I'd managed to wedge my luggage between the bags of two other individuals with a satisfying crunch and somehow managed to find the last aisle seat on the plane next to an empty middle seat. I was settling myself in when the overhead speakers came on to announce that the flight crew was looking for any individual with an empty seat next to him or her who would be willing to trade so that a father could sit with his 8-year old boy. The anonmymity that a large group of people affords you allowed me to take out my Microbiology Made Ridiculously Simple for some study time until the very next message which was along the lines of. “Ladies and gentleman, we are still looking for someone who would be willing to trade a seat. If you'd be kind enough to give up your seat, I'll buy you a cocktail,” stated the overhead speaker. At the risk of the rest of the crew thinking that I am not only unkind and selfish, but also an alcoholic, I hit my call light and before I knew it I was wedged between an obese man who happened to be overflowing into my seat and a long black ponytail which belonged to a frail woman who seemed to be more hair then woman. I managed to settle myself into my half-seat and find a comfortable position for reading. I pulled out my microbiology book but, the contrast between the cartoon-like pictures and the 15+ character latin words of my book tends to draw unwanted attention. He asked me what I was reading, which lead to what I did for a living. I told him that I was a student and that I studying for a test which unfortunately doesn't do much to deter a determined, or perhaps lonely individual from talking to me. In general I try to be as vague as possible on the occasion that my occupation should find it's way into a conversation, but for the determined individual with limited ability to read between the lines, the limited scope of the information that I offer is misinterpreted as an inticing invitation to figure out exactly what it is that I do. All told, he didn't want to talk to me for the duration of the flight and the majority of the flight consisted of a 10-minute nap, committing diarrhea-inducing parasites to memory, and a bloody mary. I'd decided to get up to use the restroom and take a break from studying, however contrary to what the little green-lit man above my head said, the bathroom was in fact occupied. At the risk of losing my place, I decided to stay in place which lead to small talk with the stewardess who had hooked me up with a free cocktail. In the end, she offered me a second drink, which, out of politeness, I gratefully accepted. “A rum and coke this time” I corrected her.
What would have been a rather uneventful remainder of the flight comprising a round of memorizing flesh-eating bacteria was interrupted by an announcement which went somewhat along the lines of “ladies and gentleman, we have an individual requiring medical evaluation and would like to know if there are any medical professionals on the flight that would be able to make their services available.” It's not that I wasn't interested in helping, it's just that the medical world is so vast and overwhelming that virtually any medical student especially in the early pre-clinical years of med school, would have done just the same. I quietly placed my bookmark in my current position and decided that I'd had enough memorization for this particular flight. The 300lb man didn't share my views. “Stand up!” he encouraged. “Uhmm, well you know I haven't actually graduated. I'm just a student.” “It doesn't matter! Get up there, they have no one else!” But the man wasn't going to allow me to turn down my services, so he took it upon himself to press his call button, stand up and shout out “right here! Here! He's in medicine. He can help!” “No, no, you don't understand,” I tried to explain to the stewardess and for that matter the rest of the passengers who were now staring at me. But before I finished the sentence I realized that I had no choice, not with everyone's expectations not hanging on me. But everything was moving too fast for me to accept the fact that there was no way for anyone to reason his or her way out of this situation. Fortunately, I had little time and just the right of alcohol in my system to prevent me from freaking out. The stewardess started explaining the situation to me and walking me over a few aisles back to a middle-aged man in obvious discomfort. Turns out he had all the text-book signs of having a heart-attack, which no med student could miss. At this point you'd think I would be relieved having diagnosed him, and despite a tiny amount of relief for having succesfully overcome the first obstacle, it only made the next that much more glaringly obvious. Of course I had no idea what to do next. The stewardess lead me further back towards the lavatory in the area that afforded us a bit more privacy and although difficult to believe, asked me a question that was even less within the realm of my expertise. “I mean he's probably having a heart attack, but listen, lady, I have no idea if you should land the plane! I can't make that decision.” “Well what we do next?” she insisted. I'd never been as relieved as I was in the next moments when a determined-looking grey-haired woman walked towards us an introduced herself as “an ER nurse for 30 years.” “Yes! listen to her, she knows what she's doing.” The attention immediately shifted to her and thus relieved an tremendous amount of tension from my shoulders.
I was in the Chicago airport hoping for an uneventful flight that would allow me to get some in some study-time. I'd always enjoyed being in the airport. Despite a few childhood experiences such as painstakingly crafting my doggy bag into a communication device by punching holes into the bag using the braille alphabet using a braille bookmark I'd gotten in the library earlier in the week, followed by losing my lunch on the landing that the airline industry has fostered in me expectations regarding their performance not much above those I hold for the DMV, I'm still surprised that no other airline besides southwest has devolved so far as to institute a boarding policy that requires for you to wrestle for seats with complete strangers 10 minutes prior to the requirement for you to sit politely next to them for the duration of the flight.. Either way, in this instance it worked out for me. Of course the aisle and windows seats fill up first, and if you have a boarding pass in the C-class, you can expect to be in the middle seat. I'd managed to wedge my luggage between the bags of two other individuals with a satisfying crunch and somehow managed to find the last aisle seat on the plane next to an empty middle seat. I was settling myself in when the overhead speakers came on to announce that the flight crew was looking for any individual with an empty seat next to him or her who would be willing to trade so that a father could sit with his 8-year old boy. The anonmymity that a large group of people affords you allowed me to take out my Microbiology Made Ridiculously Simple for some study time until the very next message which was along the lines of. “Ladies and gentleman, we are still looking for someone who would be willing to trade a seat. If you'd be kind enough to give up your seat, I'll buy you a cocktail,” stated the overhead speaker. At the risk of the rest of the crew thinking that I am not only unkind and selfish, but also an alcoholic, I hit my call light and before I knew it I was wedged between an obese man who happened to be overflowing into my seat and a long black ponytail which belonged to a frail woman who seemed to be more hair then woman. I managed to settle myself into my half-seat and find a comfortable position for reading. I pulled out my microbiology book but, the contrast between the cartoon-like pictures and the 15+ character latin words of my book tends to draw unwanted attention. He asked me what I was reading, which lead to what I did for a living. I told him that I was a student and that I studying for a test which unfortunately doesn't do much to deter a determined, or perhaps lonely individual from talking to me. In general I try to be as vague as possible on the occasion that my occupation should find it's way into a conversation, but for the determined individual with limited ability to read between the lines, the limited scope of the information that I offer is misinterpreted as an inticing invitation to figure out exactly what it is that I do. All told, he didn't want to talk to me for the duration of the flight and the majority of the flight consisted of a 10-minute nap, committing diarrhea-inducing parasites to memory, and a bloody mary. I'd decided to get up to use the restroom and take a break from studying, however contrary to what the little green-lit man above my head said, the bathroom was in fact occupied. At the risk of losing my place, I decided to stay in place which lead to small talk with the stewardess who had hooked me up with a free cocktail. In the end, she offered me a second drink, which, out of politeness, I gratefully accepted. “A rum and coke this time” I corrected her.
What would have been a rather uneventful remainder of the flight comprising a round of memorizing flesh-eating bacteria was interrupted by an announcement which went somewhat along the lines of “ladies and gentleman, we have an individual requiring medical evaluation and would like to know if there are any medical professionals on the flight that would be able to make their services available.” It's not that I wasn't interested in helping, it's just that the medical world is so vast and overwhelming that virtually any medical student especially in the early pre-clinical years of med school, would have done just the same. I quietly placed my bookmark in my current position and decided that I'd had enough memorization for this particular flight. The 300lb man didn't share my views. “Stand up!” he encouraged. “Uhmm, well you know I haven't actually graduated. I'm just a student.” “It doesn't matter! Get up there, they have no one else!” But the man wasn't going to allow me to turn down my services, so he took it upon himself to press his call button, stand up and shout out “right here! Here! He's in medicine. He can help!” “No, no, you don't understand,” I tried to explain to the stewardess and for that matter the rest of the passengers who were now staring at me. But before I finished the sentence I realized that I had no choice, not with everyone's expectations not hanging on me. But everything was moving too fast for me to accept the fact that there was no way for anyone to reason his or her way out of this situation. Fortunately, I had little time and just the right of alcohol in my system to prevent me from freaking out. The stewardess started explaining the situation to me and walking me over a few aisles back to a middle-aged man in obvious discomfort. Turns out he had all the text-book signs of having a heart-attack, which no med student could miss. At this point you'd think I would be relieved having diagnosed him, and despite a tiny amount of relief for having succesfully overcome the first obstacle, it only made the next that much more glaringly obvious. Of course I had no idea what to do next. The stewardess lead me further back towards the lavatory in the area that afforded us a bit more privacy and although difficult to believe, asked me a question that was even less within the realm of my expertise. “I mean he's probably having a heart attack, but listen, lady, I have no idea if you should land the plane! I can't make that decision.” “Well what we do next?” she insisted. I'd never been as relieved as I was in the next moments when a determined-looking grey-haired woman walked towards us an introduced herself as “an ER nurse for 30 years.” “Yes! listen to her, she knows what she's doing.” The attention immediately shifted to her and thus relieved an tremendous amount of tension from my shoulders.