The two most crazy sects of travelers are: bus people and the lesser-discussed plane people. Bus People are known for being disheveled and always having a “I’m currently contemplating strangling myself with my headphone cord before I get across town” face on. Plane People are a whole other animal. They’re generally not as messy (I mean, you have to be at least Upper Middle Class to fly anymore with these prices, amIright?!), nor as suicidal. I personally think flying from NYC to LA is less painful than trying to cross Manhattan to get to the West Side Trader Joe’s location for decently priced frozen meals. But Plane Peeps are crazy as hell. Or at least the ones I sit next to in the cattle-call seating that Southwest Airlines insists on doing. (As if flying wasn’t classless enough anymore, you have to play “Hunger Games” just so you don’t get the middle seat?) My most recent flying companions have been especially…memorable:

Denver to NYC, November 2014:

I got the middle seat (but the first row, front of the plane, so I thought I was in good shape because there’s all that extra leg room and you’re not face-to-face with a reclining seat-back), and learned within 5 seconds that I was seated between Stickler-For-Rules Karen and a roly poly woman who who talked to people no one else could see and also looked exactly like the baby from that show, “Dinosaurs.” As soon as I sat down, Stickler-For-Rules told me: “you can’t have your bag here. You have to put it up top!” I told her “I know that, I’m just trying to get situated and not block the aisle.” She didn’t care and urged me to get my shit together faster. It was like my mother and a no-nonsense Air Marshall had an old love child and she was it. On my right, there was Baby Dinosaur (“I’m the baby!” and “not the mama!” were on a loop in my head the whole flight. If she said either one, I would have shit myself and died, right there), who was talking to someone – it could have been me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying, so I can only assume she was speaking to the spirit of her dead pet chinchilla.

Everyone was pretty quiet for the flight, until Baby Dino tried to use the restroom. Big! Mistake! Stickler-For-Rules immediately scolded her, saying “Someone’s already IN THERE. You can’t just STAND IN THE AISLES.” Obviously with the language barrier, this caused quite a confusion and no one cared except Stickler-For-Rules. (I held it the whole time just to avoid getting yelled at again. I saw “Con Air,” I know how airplane squabbles go down – one wrong move and you end up locked in a cage strapped in a Hannibal Lecter face mask and Nicholas Cage’s stuffed teddy bear gets ruined.)

Stickler-For-Rules and Baby Dino later made amends when Dino told Stickler the powers of this amazing, magical, “African lotion” called “Shea Butter.” Stickler-For-Rules obviously knew exactly what Shea Butter was, and made that known, but then let Baby Dino talk about how she slathers it all over her body to combat winter dryness (not an especially sexy visual, so…you’re welcome!). But then Baby Dino cut the conversation short when she turned to look out the window and started talking. At first I thought she might be praying, because we were about to land, but then she put her hand up as if she was whispering to someone. So probably not praying, but maybe there was someone standing on the wing, talking back, and my mind just wasn’t elevated/drugged enough to see him.

NYC to Denver, August 2014

On this day, my favorite pair of row-mates took me on a roller coaster ride of emotions, in addition to putting up with the turbulence that always comes with flying to Denver (fucking mountains). At first glance, they appear to be a midwestern mother-daughter combo. Some eavesdropping told me they were flying to Denver, then driving to Utah to meet “Daddy” for a good old fashioned family vacay. SIDE NOTE: I feel strongly that adult women shouldn’t refer to their fathers as “daddy” – you sound like you’re referring to your 30-years your senior boyfriend and moreover, can thus create confusion for eavesdroppers.

Daughter speaks in baby voice, although she appeared to be in college. A few very conspicuous glances at her day planner confirms this, based on her neatly-written schedule (I have no shame and would have asked her to decipher her handwriting, if it hadn’t looked sickeningly perfect, like a preschool teacher’s). It also looked like she had a part-time job on campus (“Work, 10-3 smiley-face-doodle!”) Just to give you a mental picture: I wear my headphones and don’t turn on music, but bob my head a little bit so it looks like I’m listening to music. I usually close my eyes so it looks like I’m napping, then steal side-eye glances when I need a visual. If I need a good look, I’ll pretend I need something from my bag so I have more snooping freedom.

Then it got weird. While engaging in some boring chit-chat, the daughter pulls something out of her bag. A book? Homework? Nope. It was….a coloring book. But not an adult one – an Ages 6-10 Disney characters coloring book. It was already half colored, so you know this is not a one-time thing, but a steady hobby. This might go without saying, but I was put further into a shocked confusion when she pulled out a box of crayons (8 pack, if you were wondering. But I’m assuming that’s just her travel set and she’s got the huge box with the sharpener in back at home). So she starts coloring while they chat (she stayed in between the lines, if you were curious) and then Mom asks her about her boyfriend! The plot thickens!

Daughter…whilst coloring, tells mom about the SEXTS she sent the beau to “tide him over” while she was gone. Mom GIGGLED and asked if she was naked. Daughter – in baby coo – says “oh gosh no, just my underwear!” I did wonder if she chose sexy undies, or if her undies were a cotton panty/undershirt set with prancing bunnies on them to match the baby voice, but no one clarified this for me. After they talked about her boyfriend’s apparent voracious appetite for sexual contact and undie-selfies, they each buried themselves in a book and a coloring book, respectively, and I sat in a confusion coma, trying to wrap my mind around who exactly I was sharing this 4 hour flight with. Over-sexed baby? Normal gal who just loves to color? I don’t know!!! All I’m saying is, if you are reading this, Baby Voice, I’m sorry. But also, let’s get coffee because I really need to hear your whole life story stat. I’ll bring the crayons!