Note from Author: as the first line states, this post was written as a Word Document 13 days ago. Before I got a chance to post it, I had laptop death. Its just recently been recovered & I have a chance to post it now. I did some minor editing to remove any beer-fogged confusion.
Its 7:00 PM EDT on 4 October 2007 & I’m high over the Earth somewhere between Atlanta and Baltimore returning from a conference in Charleston. I’ll have to post this to the blog later. I flew to Charleston on Monday & thought I had the rudest person next to me on that flight that I had experienced in a long time. Not since my 11 year old daughter was 18 months, have I experiences this type of rudeness. I try to select aisle seats on planes because I like to stretch my legs out in the aisle & they are easier to get in and out of with less disruption to other passengers. As I was late checking in, I had to take a window seat. I was in my window seat before her arrived for her middle seat, so I had a front view as she took extra time to hurtle her carry-on beside my seat & force her other carry-on into the overhead, all the while other passengers stood & patiently waited because she was taking up at least three rows while doing this. She sat, I had on headphones listening to the complimentary XM satellite radio & we ignored each other. It should be pointed out that I always ignore others on a plane because I’m not interested in idle chatter. Call me rude if you will, but I’m frankly not interested in what others have to say, which is a topic that comes up later.
When we finally landed in Charleston, the person in the aisle stood & bum-rushed forward to get the hell off the plane. A row or two opened ahead of this, so the woman in the middle seat stood & moved over to the aisle seat. After a time, I stood & was probably a little over zealous in removing my briefcase from under the seat in front of me. It brushed her arm, ever so slightly. I apologized & she said nothing. As she moved forward to get her case from overhead she offered to let me go first as I “was a little too hyper.” This was a true "what the fuck moment." I said or did nothing to her the whole flight, when we land I accidentally brush her once & now I’m being hyper. I buy cheap airline tickets. My office buys cheaper tickets. I was on row 29 of a 31 row plane – I was going NO WHERE & neither was she. I wrote this off as advanced rudeness.
I am now on row 31 of a 31 row plane, on the aisle. When I reached for my laptop, I found a purse belonging to the sleeping woman next to me on my side of the space beneath the seats in front of us. Those of you who have travelled will understand that there is a metal bar barrier that separates one seat front from the other. This woman has used up hers & is not just encroaching but usurping mine. Unbelievable. Granted, I don't travel that much; I fly maybe twice a year. Those who are reading this who may fly more regularly, may experience these things all the time. I find them part of the systemic rudeness that has gripped our society.
Fortunately, this last episode was preceded by one in Atlanta-Hartsfield Airport that might be a first for me. In a rare fit of luck, I did not have to change terminals in Atlanta. I can’t remember the last time this happened. When you fly discount airlines in the middle Atlantic & southeastern U.S., you have to connect through Atlanta. On Monday, for instance, I flew into terminal D & out of terminal C. This sounds innocuous, but in less than 1 hour, it’s a little hairy. Today, I flew into gate C8 &, no shit, I flew out of gate C6, which happened to be right next to a bar. I checked the big board at gate C6 to make sure my flight was on time & decided to have a beer.
This is when serendipity takes over. As I stepped up to the ropes that separate the alcohol from the rest of the terminal, an older lady, probably approaching 60, stepped up behind me. The waitress fairly demonstratively asked me if there were 2 of us. I said there is now. Deborah & I were placed at a table with Phyllis, whom had been there a while, drinking martinis. She was quite intoxicated, but for 15 to 20 minutes, the discussion flowed. We all learned each others names, where we live & where we were headed. Phyllis was probably 70, so Deborah & I humored here. Fortunately, she had to leave & Deborah & I resumed sober talk.
Deborah had missed her connecting flight due to miscommunication & a need to visit the lady’s room. She was flying from Orlando to Akron to visit her daughter & grandchildren. When she got off the plane in Atlanta, she needed the facilities & mistakenly overheard that the plane to Akron boarded just over there at the next gate. She went to the restroom & upon returning to the gate, learned that she had to change terminals. She missed her flight by less than 10 minutes. Her genuine tears earned her a free ticket on the airline & an Atlanta t-shirt, plus a three hour stay in the terminal. That would put her in Akron at close to midnight. I saw my mother in her eyes when she said this cost her four hours with her grandchildren. This is Thursday evening & she was flying back to Florida Sunday morning.
She asked what I do for a living & upon hearing I am an architect, her expression glowed. Her 13-year old grandson has expressed interest in architecture & neither she nor her daughter knows where to guide him. I spent the next 20 minutes advising Deborah on what to suggest that her grandson take in the next 4 years of high school to prepare him for college. I told her I was about 13 when I realized that I wanted to be an architect. She said he’s good at math; I was good at math. What I missed out on in high school was art; basic freehand drawing from nature. She was surprised to hear this. I suggested that he take as much art as he can. I told her my great-uncle who is an architect suggested the same for me. I didn’t like the art teacher at my high school, so I didn’t take the classes.
Deborah asked about computers; don’t most architects draw using computers. I told her yes, but an important skill is to be able to look at something in nature & draw it from hand. That lends itself to the idea of being able to design from your own mind. She asked about books. I said any history of architecture, any freehand drawing book, but not mechanical drawing; drawing from nature is best. I also mentioned my silent mentor, Sambo Mockbee & his Rural Studio at Auburn University. I explained what Sambo was trying to do & his unfortunate passing. I also pointed out that these books were expensive - $75 or more.
I felt happy to help a young person enter our profession. At 13, history tells us the chances of him making it to be a registered architect are slim. I was about 11 when I decided I wanted to be an architect. I entered architecture school at age 18. I graduated from architecture school when I was 23. I was 31 when I made it. Why can’t this young man make it? There is no reason & who am I to not help. At the conference I just attended, we were told that our purpose on Earth is to leave it better than we left it. It was a sustainable design conference, so that was a typical sentiment, but its right. I felt it my duty to the profession that I love to help others enter it as prepared as possible. Twice Deborah said to me that I was the reason she missed her flight. That thought resonates with me; especially as a Catholic who believes in a calling, in vocation & in providence.
