My Most Dramatic Flight Experience


Now I’ve settled down and my jet lag has faded away a bit, I think I tell you guys the story of what happened as I was flying back to San Francisco. Flight Horror Story tbh. Before I go on, I wrote a story on my other blog about a hitman so check it out when you’re less bored. Moving on.

 

My Most Dramatic (and probably the worst) Flight Experience. Ever.

 map

So before I begin, I feel it’s necessary to show you a map of where I live, where the airport is, and how long it takes to get there. Now you’ve seen it, I shall proceed with my story.

I was scheduled to fly back to San Francisco by 10:10PM on Friday and land early Saturday. Since the day was fast approaching, I spent my last week seeing a lot of people and even went as far as Ibadan on Thursday, and returned back to Lagos on Friday around 1:30PM. Did some last minute packing, had lunch, took a shower, and by 4:25PM, my parents and I left VGC. We had hopes that if we left that early, we’d get to the airport on time. However

reality

 

For those of you who don’t understand Lagos, I want you to look back at that map, see how long Google estimates we’re supposed to get there. Seen it? If not, I’ll bring the image down for you again.

timee

We cool? Cool.

For those of you who do understand Lagos, I circled a joke for you guys

traffic

 

ready

There is no such thing as “Without Traffic” in Lagos. Especially when you don’t want traffic.

Going to the airport from VGC, I’m sure Lagosians agree with me when I say that there are three levels of traffic one needs to beat before arriving at the airport.

  1. VI/Ikoyi traffic
  2. 3rd Mainland Bridge traffic

And finally

  1. Airport traffic.

Luckily, we had beaten both levels of traffic with some time to spare, and by 7:45PM, we had arrived at Murtala Muhammed International Airport. Yup. It took us 3 hours and 20 minutes to arrive at the airport. Now all we had to do was beat airport traffic.

But that’s the problem…

We never did.

For those of you who (don’t) know, just before you get to that part of the airport where you go left/right for arrival/departure, there’s a security checkpoint.

The traffic in the airport was so bad, that by 8:30PM, we still hadn’t gotten to the checkpoint. By 8:45PM, I took as many bags as I could and my father joined me in carrying my bags (while my mother drove in the traffic) as we ran towards the airport so I wouldn’t miss my flight. We got into the airport on foot by like 8:54. When I finally got to the United Airlines stand to try to check in my bags, they said the counter has closed.

devastation

I almost died yunno. I mean, I had checked in online and printed out my boarding pass, but now I just wanted to drop my bags so they could be transported for me, but they said the counter had closed.

My dad tried talking to the guy, asking him if there was any way he could assist us or anything but the guy said there was nothing he could do whatsoever. The only thing he advised us to do was stuff as many clothes as we could in a bag that’d fit the plane’s overhead compartment. Basically he told me to start stuffing clothes into my carryon bag and travel with just that, leaving my other bags behind.

I squished some clothes in my already full carryon bag, filled out my Ebola form and then ran towards the immigration line. By the time I got there, the line was this long

line

The time was 9:30PM now, and my flight was scheduled to leave at 10:10PM.

linnee

A lot of palms were greased but by 9:47PM, I found myself running to the gate, praying it hadn’t closed yet (cus it was meant to close by 9:50 and there was no way I was going to reach it in 3 minutes)

It wasn’t closed.

After about an hour long delay, I finally got on the plane and walked towards my seat. I had the middle seat on the left section of the plane. To my right, was a middle aged Igbo man who was quite tech savvy and chill. On my left hand side however, was a problem.

Usually almost always, I hate traveling with Nigerians. The woman who sat by my left epitomized why.

The woman who sat by the window seat was probably nothing more than 40. By American standards, she’s chubby/has a few pounds. By Nigerian standards, she’s fat.

Anyways, she was the last person to board the plane and after she sat down, I found that I couldn’t seat properly since part of her thighs/ass/fat was pushing my thigh away.

I ignored this, took a deep breath after all my running, and decided to munch on some chips I had bought while on my way to the airport. As the woman saw me eating, she said out loud

“Ebi npa mi.” Which is a Yoruba phrase that means “I’m hungry.”

I looked at her weird while she stared at my food for a bit, then she made us all stand up, and then she went ahead to get a black nylon from her carryon bag and returned to her seat. I didn’t want to bother myself with the constituents of the nylon, but my curiosity got the best of me when I heard her mouth moving, so I looked at her and discovered that she was eating meat from her black nylon.

Fam. I was looking at this woman like

what the f

Why would you even put meat in your carryon bag? Why didn’t anyone even check her bag and see this? So many questions.

Anyways, the flight took off and the flight attendants came and offered us light refreshments. We were asked what we wanted to drink and all answered appropriately. When it came to this woman’s turn, she first asked for a cup of water, and then a can of apple juice. The air hostess said she couldn’t give a can because she couldn’t do that, but this woman insisted on having a can, and not a cup of apple juice.

Now, you guys need to understand that the cup used in serving drinks is quite deep even though it’s small. If you poured a can of a drink inside the cup, at least 85% of the canned drink will be in the cup, but there’ll still be a bit of the drink remaining in the can. At most, 15% is what would be left in the can.

This greedy Yoruba woman wanted that 15%.

After going back and forth, she bent to the will of the air hostess and got her apple juice in the cup, while grumbling under her breath.

Later on, another air hostess came again and asked us if we wanted chicken or beef for dinner. People responded according to their wants. When the new air hostess came up to the woman again, this was how the conversation went.

Air Hostess: “Chicken or Beef madam?”
Yoruba Woman: (smiling) “Can I try boat of dem? Can you miss d two toegehda? And can you gimme a glass of worra as well? Am tarsty.”

 

I was like

almost

 

The Air hostess burst out laughing and she was looking at the rest of us like

funny right

 

Anyways, she told her that that was a nice joke and she’d get her the water, but she could only give her one of the two options available. The woman took the chicken while the air hostess was laughing at the “joke” the woman told.

Deep down, I don’t think that woman was joking…

Anyways, after eating and getting sleepy, the woman reached into her small purse and brought out some perfume which (I swear to God all this happened) she proceeded to spray in both her armpits (which were sweaty) and on her hair. Then she turned around to rest her head on the window as she dozed off to sleep, while my nostrils were irritated by her perfume and I was left trying to figure out where to put my arm since her butt knocked it off the armrest, while also left to figure out where to put my other leg since her butt/thigh was sweaty and I wanted none of that.

Not long before she had adjusted and made me adjust, she fell asleep. I knew this, cus I could hear her snoring. I really dunno if God was punishing me, or I really just have bad luck with planes.

Throughout the whole 13 hour 30 minute flight, I did not sleep. If it wasn’t her snoring, sweating, or perfume spraying every now and then, it was her complaining about not getting a can of apple juice or not enough food or water.

As we landed, I was seriously tempted to ask this woman why she couldn’t have bought a business class ticket if everything happening here pissed her off so much. I really wanted to, but I held myself back.

not today

 

When we finally landed and the plane was still moving quickly, some Nigerians had already started unfastening their seat belt and were trying to take out their carryon bags from the compartment. I really don’t understand the rush. I never did. It’s really only Nigerians that tend to do this a lot and I wonder why they’re in such a hurry.

Fast forward a few minutes and I was in Houston, waiting in line for immigration shit. We arrived in Houston 5:30AM (Houston time), my plane was to leave by 7:05AM, and by 6ish, I finally saw the immigration officer.

On seeing my passport, he asked me to go wait in another room.

In there, I spent a whole fucking 30 minutes doing nothing but waiting for some immigration officer to return my passport and my documents to me so I could run to my gate.

After my long wait, I started running towards the customs officers so I could just drop my customs form and head to the gate. As I saw the officer and gave him my customs form, he ushered me into another room and the sign on it said “XRAY ROOM”

That shit pissed me the fuck off. Last I remembered, Nigeria was Ebola free and USA is still battling cases.

My precious time was wasted there again and long story short, I somehow managed to get into my plane as the gate was closing. I was literally so late, that by the time I got into the plane, the captain announced that the final passenger had gotten on the plane and it could now take off.

On making that announcement, I felt so many white eyeballs on me.

suspicious

 

I could care less.

I was just glad to be on the plane, and three hours later, I was back home in San Francisco.
Never in my life have I ever had such a shit time pre-flight, midflight, and after the flight. I mean, I was super relieved to be back in San Francisco, but now, I have only a pair of underwear, like three jeans, two shirts and one pair of shoes. The rest of my good clothes are back in Nigeria.

Anyways, follow @TheOiz and have a nice day.

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