"34E" by Adam Bonefeste
At exactly 0 mph, 18 feet of elevation, and t-minus 7 minutes before IA321’s ETD, Ian McNulty starts sweating. The primary reason is that he’s too considerate to encroach on his neighbors by turning on his personal air vent, but the unexplained absence of the passenger assigned to the seat next to him isn’t helping.
For Ian, flying in an airplane is usually a nightmare. He suffers, or (in his opinion) benefits from, a hyperawareness of his effects on other people. The experience of air travel is a minefield of potential interpersonal aggressions, an enclosed metal tube rigged with an obscene number of opportunities to infringe on fellow passengers.
As part of his regular employment, Ian travels by plane to visit his company’s customers. His personality lends itself well to success in this kind of work. Ian isn’t necessarily required to be the one to go on these trips, but if an employee has to undertake the inconveniences of business travel — sleeping in hotel beds, lost luggage, missing time at home with loved ones, putting the body through time zone shifts, etc. — Ian is always an enthusiastic volunteer. There’s a per diem, but the hassle he prevents his colleagues from enduring is payment enough.
Ian’s a veteran traveler and his position in seat 34D is no accident. To the socially conscientious flier, it’s the optimal choice for this aircraft. 34 is the last row of this particular model, eliminating the possibility that Ian could accidentally lean his seat back into another passenger. It’s also the nearest row to the in-flight commode, which can be particularly crowded and offensive territory by the end of the flight. Someone has to occupy those seats, Ian might as well make the sacrifice.
There’s also the issue of in-flight food and beverage service. Lower-numbered rows have the possible misfortune of claiming the last of a desirable item, robbing a deserving passenger in one of the higher-numbered rows of their preferred dining option. Sitting in the last row is the only way to avoid this transgression. He likes getting the leftovers.
On first consideration, aisle seats C and D seem like prime real estate; it would be selfish to take one that could better serve another passenger. A more considerate selection might be B or E. Pair the undesirability of the middle seat with the opportunity to keep one’s elbows to himself and offer a double-armrest experience for both neighbors, and Ian’s choice would seem obvious.
However, when he selects a seat near the back of the plane to forfeit exit time, Ian also moves out of the seats generally taken by solo business travelers and into the range of people traveling on personal vacation. This group is far more likely to be flying in pairs or more. Eating up middle seats is a good way to force a total stranger into having an awkward seat-switching conversation. Since he’ll always oblige, it’s also a possibility that Ian accidentally ends up in the window seat, with minimal neighbors and an unobstructed view outside, essentially the throne of the airplane row.
Once the plane is airborne, the most frequent intra-row conversation is an outer seat occupant requesting an inner seat occupant endure the inconvenient shuffle to allow a trip to the restroom. The aisle seat comes with the benefit of ensuring that Ian is always on the receiving end of that inconvenience.
To make sure that he’s leaving the most room for fellow passengers to have their personal needs met, Ian has gone without carry-on luggage and a personal item. He’s fully charged his cellular device (already powered off and put away) to offer full usage of electrical outlets to rowmates.
From 34D, he can see all the way to the front of the plane. Each passenger has stowed their luggage so the aisle is unobstructed. Ian’s legs begin bouncing and he cranes his neck into the aisle in the hopes of seeing a last-minute passenger. He counts heads to confirm his suspicion: the lone empty seat on the plane is directly next to him.
His hand tenses on the aisle-side armrest as he leans farther to get a clear view. He’s missed flights before, and the fear of 34E going through the same complications — the hassle of waiting in line, explaining the situation to the gate agent, adjusting lodging/ground transportation services, paying additional fees — causes his heart rate to pick up speed.
The flight has been described on the PA multiple times as “completely full.” 34E’s vacancy cannot be intentional. Imagine what this person must have been through today. There are millions of reasons to be late to a flight and only a very small number of them are desirable. Assuming 34E were to miraculously burst into the aisle and locate the correct seat, they would almost definitely be let down to realize that their neighbor is already a perspiring wreck.
Ladies and gentlemen, the jet bridge door will be closing in two minutes. All cellular telephones and other portable electronic devices, such as portable music players and laptop computers, must be turned off and stowed for departure. Thank you.
Two minutes. He can feel liquid pooling at his sideburns and underarms. He rubs his palms on his jeans to dry them off, should 34E be the handshaking type. The anxiety of being so near this tragedy is overwhelming.
To take his mind off the countdown, Ian studies his peers in the rear section of flight IA321. Two rows up, 32C is already asleep with his foot encroaching not just into the aisle, but beyond the midway point. If 34E, or any other passenger, were to need to move quickly through the plane, 32C would at least be an inconvenience and potentially the cause of an injury. If that stray foot were to remain extended past takeoff, it would certainly prohibit the free movement of the in-flight refreshment cart. The flight attendants would need to go outside of their routine job requirements (which are burdensome already) and wake up the man just to serve the rest of the passengers.
In front of Ian, 33D has already reclined her seat as far back as the mechanism will allow — an expected offense — though even the most inconsiderate passengers will acknowledge the propriety of waiting until the plane has taken off and the pilot has officially cleared passengers to do so. 34F, wearing an impeccably pressed business suit, is typing frantically on her laptop two seats away, but the clattering of the keys is surely drowned out by the intense volume of the music she’s listening to. Her in-ear headphones do little to contain the noise from polluting Ian’s air across the empty seat.
Farther up the aisle, occupants of rows in the mid-20s are stretching arms to adjust their seat’s lighting and air settings, completely disrupting their neighbors' personal climates. Someone is playing a game on their phone, but forgot to bring headphones. The foiled crinkles of terminal snacks is nearly deafening.
Amid the cacophony of small interpersonal aggressions, flight IA321s engines roar to life and the passengers fall silent. Without Ian noticing, the doors have closed with 34E on the outside. No one besides him seems to notice.
Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. Our flight is ready for departure …
What about 34E? What about the plane being completely full? Surely the airline has contact information for all booked passengers. Is it possible that they tried calling 34E to understand the situation more completely? What if 34E were running full speed through the terminal right now, dragging unruly bags just steps away from the gate? What if 34E has lost the race against time by just seconds, which could easily be made up mid-flight if the pilot were to wait for 100% occupancy?
Sweat from Ian’s chin drips onto his shirt. He reaches for the sickness disposal bag. Nothing is imminent, but it’s better to be prepared. It would be unforgivable to make a mess like that on a flight at 99% capacity.
While he doesn’t want to assume he can speak for all his fellow passengers, Ian assumes that everyone would be willing to wait just an extra moment or two while they found out 34E’s status.
… In preparation for departure, your seat back should be in the upright and locked positions and your tray table should be locked. Make sure that your personal items are placed under the seat in front of you …
The passengers of IA321 dutifully obey. 33D’s seat snaps forward into position. 34F closes and stows her laptop. No one even considers the empty seat or its intended occupant.
What if 34E were on a connecting flight that, through no fault of their own, was delayed just a minute too long? Air travel is full of opportunities for inconvenience, but there’s no experience like missing a connecting flight to make a person feel utterly helpless. At this very moment, factors entirely out of 34E’s control (weather, overbooking, understaffing, plane availability, unexpected maintenance, etc.) could have already caused them to miss their expected arrival.
34E will likely wait in a long line to speak with gate agents — the least positive people on planet Earth — only to find out that there are no flights immediately available. 34E will face the lose-lose decision of enduring a long layover (potentially including an overnight in the airport) or booking a last-minute hotel reservation in a strange city. They may also need to book travel accommodations there and back. All that just to re-endure the dehumanizing security screening at the terminal the next day.
… Fasten your seat belt by placing the metal fitting into the buckle and adjusting the strap so it fits low and tight around your hips. To release, lift the faceplate of the buckle …
Ian begins to feel bad for not paying attention to the flight attendants during the safety demonstration. They work hard to get this routine just right and he imagines that they’d enjoy a more attentive audience. Plus, there’s always the distant, but definitely nonzero chance that the flight will experience unexpected hazards and the information will become extremely pertinent. Ian lifts the faceplate, wiggles slightly in his seat, and reclicks the metal fitting back into the buckle. He adjusts the strap so it fits low and tight around his hips. For the sake of the other passengers, someone should be paying attention.
… Your seat cushion may serve as an approved flotation device. Pull up to remove it and take it with you to the nearest usable exit ...
There’s no time for this. Someone is missing. What if it’s something bigger than a missed connecting flight? What if there’s something seriously dangerous to 34E’s wellbeing? An injury, a sudden sickness, an accident, a natural disaster, or worse yet — some horrible combination. What if, right now, 34E is the victim of a fall, or worse, inside his or her own home? Since 34E has no way to contact the airline and vacate the seat to a standby passenger, contacting emergency personnel is likely not an option either.
… As the flight attendants are indicating, there are two exits in the front of the aircraft, four over the wings, and two more in the rear of the aircraft. Take a moment to locate the exit nearest you, keeping in mind that it may be behind you ...
It could be the case that 34E is not just the victim of circumstance. There could be a dastardly human element preventing 34E from making this flight. Signs in the men’s room indicate airports are a hotspot for human trafficking violations. Ride sharing platforms have a reputation for doing less than due diligence on new driver background checks. There’s a lot that can go wrong for a flier before a flight even takes off, and less compassionate fliers might not even know the full extent of potential hazards.
Even worse, what if 34E was this flight’s designated air marshall? What if the rest of the passengers are now unknowingly flying at additional risk? What if something were to happen mid-flight and only 34E had received the training necessary to intervene?
Despite Ian’s increasing certainty of misfortune, IA321 slowly wheels away from the terminal and begins putting significantly more distance between passenger 34E and the empty seat. Ian makes a resolution to contact the airline headquarters as soon as he lands to let them know about 34E’s absence and investigate what can be done to make contact with the individual in need.
He raises his arm halfway to the call button to initiate the inquiry, but retracts it when he thinks of the delays that the other passengers would have to endure should the standard takeoff protocol be interrupted.
… To start the flow of oxygen, reach up and pull the mask toward you, fully extending the plastic tubing. Place the mask over your nose and mouth and slip the elastic band over your head. To tighten, pull the tab on each side of the mask ...
Ian’s sweating is becoming a noticeable distraction for the other passengers. The neck of his tee shirt is discolored and misshapen. His eyes blink with a salty sting. He wouldn’t be more nervous if he were piloting the plane. 34E’s life could be in the balance.
His awareness of the discomfort he is inflicting on the rest of row 34 and maybe even 33 makes him more anxious. The anxiety creates more sweating. The sweating creates more anxiety. The cycle of salinization is accelerating.
The flight attendants have finished the oxygen mask demonstration and move toward the back of the plane to perform one last check on the passengers. Ian considers flagging one down to probe for details about 34E, but ultimately decides not to risk any delays.
Despite the considerate avoidance of his seat’s personal air valve, the circumstances have changed the equation. In an act of small encroachment on his neighbors, Ian reaches up to activate his seat’s cooling device. 34E’s absence and the open aisle on the other side make this aggression more palatable to Ian. At this rate, a small amount of residual airflow is far less of a disservice than a salty, wet mess.
Once he’s twisted the valve open to full blast, he grabs the in-flight magazine (gently, so as not to disrupt 33D), unfolds it in his lap, and begins leafing through to look for the airline’s contact information. Maybe there’s a specific phone number or email to check passenger status.
As he thumbs the pages, a bead of sweat migrates down Ian’s chin and pauses for a split second before landing directly on the table of contents. Ian quietly folds the magazine closed and scans sideways to see if anyone has noticed.
… As a reminder, smoking is not permitted in any area of the aircraft, including the lavatories. Tampering with, disabling, or destroying a lavatory smoke detector is prohibited. Enjoy your flight ...
With the air blowing at maximum velocity, Ian’s body becomes significantly more agreeable. He’s coming down.
“Hello?”
It’s 34F. She’s looking out the window, so she must be on the phone. Ian didn’t see her accept a call, but it’s noticeable that her music has stopped and a small voice is chattering in her ear.
“Can you make it quick? I’m about to take off.”
She’s either oblivious to the announcement about personal electronic devices or intentionally defiant. It’s significantly past time to disable mobile capabilities.
34F closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose while she listens to the voice on the other end. In a panic, she unlocks her tray table, removes a laptop from her carry-on bag, and begins clicking feverishly.
Ian’s sweating resumes. What if 34F’s cell signal jams communications for the pilot? What if the plane can’t take off as planned? What if the entire process is now unsafe? There must be a reason the airlines make this request.
There’s no good way to get her attention without breaking the unwritten rules of travel diplomacy. Ian slowly moves his hand into 34F’s field of vision, but the woman is oblivious.
“Oh, that’s awful. How is everyone taking it?”
Ian retracts. He’s probably witnessing something personally devastating to a fellow traveler. It’s not his place to interrupt. The flight attendants are professionals, they will make sure the plane operates by all required safety standards. Then again, maybe they didn’t notice. They were seated before the call came in. There’s no way they could know about 34F’s disobedience.
The plane begins to roll forward. The rest of the passengers are unbothered by 34F’s potential act of sabotage. They must know something Ian doesn’t. The phone thing is probably just a ruse to reduce the number of variables in takeoff protocol. It’s unnecessary safety theater.
Then again, the entire flight could be at risk and Ian’s awareness might be the only chance to interject. This could be his moment. Think of the lives he could save. He turns to address her. Some polite pantomime will be enough to get his point across.
“No, I’ve been going all night. I still need …” 34F chokes the words out in a low whimper.
Ian goes back to staring straight ahead. Now isn’t the time to step into someone’s personal crisis, but he wonders what it is that she needs. The plane isn’t even in the air yet, nothing too serious could happen if takeoff were delayed another couple of minutes. If 34E deserves an extra few minutes of courtesy, surely 34F should be granted the same lenience now.
This would be so much easier if he wasn’t sweating so much. He would be more pleasant and approachable. He could smile and ask 34F how she’s doing, show her he cares. Maybe all she needs is an empathetic conversation. Maybe she’s facing a problem Ian could help solve. Then again, an airplane is hardly a good space for a private conversation. The passengers in row 33 are entitled to their peace and quiet, after all.
IA321 turns and picks up speed. The voice in 34F’s ear takes a long pause.
“When is the absolute last minute I can get it to you? OK, tonight.”
The engines howl and the plane shakes as it accelerates. The noise drowns out the buzz of 34F’s headphones. She’s not talking any more, but is actively listening. There’s no more time to wait, the plane will be airborne in minutes, maybe seconds. Ian has given up his straight-ahead neutrality and is now turned completely to face 34F. She leans forward to get a closer look at her laptop screen. He does too.
This can’t be safe. That laptop could be connected to the internet. The phone call needs to end. IA321 can’t take off without clear airspace. Ian will even offer to pay for her to make a call once they are safely airborne and that type of activity is approved.
The nose of the plane lifts off the ground. Passengers are pressed back against their seats as the climb begins. Ian’s face and hands are bright red. His teeth are gritted and he’s breathing heavily through his nose.
There’s no more time to wait. He unbuckles his seatbelt, stretches his arm across the empty seat, and softly closes 34F’s laptop. His fingers leave a shiny smudge on the casing.
She seems to only now realize that Ian exists. They make eye contact and Ian apologizes nonverbally. Her eyes and mouth give away more shock than anger, but Ian can’t tell if that expression is a reaction to him or the phone call.
Without speaking, Ian carefully places the laptop in the seat-back pouch and locks the tray table.
When he’s done, he leans back into 34D and fastens his seatbelt. It takes a few tries because his hands are slippery and still shaking. He turns back to 34F and finds that she’s still staring at him. She’s removed her headphones, but is otherwise in the same position as before. It takes a few moments for any words to come out.
“So sorry about that,” they both say at the same time. They exchange smiles and nods.
Ian exhales, closes his eyes, and resumes facing forward. He’s proud of what he’s done, even if his peers on IA321 don’t know about his potential heroics. Sometimes part of the job is going unnoticed. He wishes 34E were here to see it all.
Adam Bonefeste writes short fiction for fun and marketing copy for work. Originally from the polite part of Illinois, he learned how to write at the University of Missouri and the University of Southern California. Today, he lives in San Francisco with his wife, son, and puppy.
