Exit Row
I am prolific today.
I was just reading mimi smartypants and was immediately reminded of one of the many moments of mortification I have felt concerning my size and appearance (I'm not a dwarf or anything, just 5-foot-nothing). Miss Mimi wrote about how she was given the exit row when flying standby recently, and the flight attendant gave her the spiel about the exit-row-seat person's responsibility in the event of an emergency.
Back in my college days, junior and senior year, rather than pay like $40 to take the Greyhound bus from Port Authority to Providence to go home (which was a schlep), I would pay $99 and take a Delta shuttle from La Guardia to Logan (making my parents drive an extra 20 minutes to Boston, but my total travel time to me went from 5-6 hours to less than 3 hours).
Anyway, on these flights they didn't assign seats, you just picked your own since it was never full. It was the spring of my senior year; I was 21 years old, complete with my college ring, able to buy copious amounts of alcohol if I so desired. I decided to sit in the exit row, taking the window seat, in the event we flew over New Bedford so I could say "I can see my house from here!". In the aisle seat of my row was a 30-something male. During the takeoff preparations one of the flight attendants walks up to our row, looks at me and says, in a sweet-like-she's-dealing-with-a-child tone, "You know, you have to be at least 15 years old to sit in the exit row."
I wanted to deck her. I was seriously appalled. I responded , "I'm 21." To which, she said "Oh!" and then hurried off down the aisle. The guy next to me gave me a sympathetic look, but to this day, I am still flabbergasted and a bit embarrassed by this whole interaction. For the love of Pete, I was LEGAL DRINKING AGE. Only months from graduating college (and nearly 22), and you think I might be 14 years old? Or less? Holy Shit.
So, either she was completely retarded, or I am drinking from the fountain of fucking youth.
I was just reading mimi smartypants and was immediately reminded of one of the many moments of mortification I have felt concerning my size and appearance (I'm not a dwarf or anything, just 5-foot-nothing). Miss Mimi wrote about how she was given the exit row when flying standby recently, and the flight attendant gave her the spiel about the exit-row-seat person's responsibility in the event of an emergency.
Back in my college days, junior and senior year, rather than pay like $40 to take the Greyhound bus from Port Authority to Providence to go home (which was a schlep), I would pay $99 and take a Delta shuttle from La Guardia to Logan (making my parents drive an extra 20 minutes to Boston, but my total travel time to me went from 5-6 hours to less than 3 hours).
Anyway, on these flights they didn't assign seats, you just picked your own since it was never full. It was the spring of my senior year; I was 21 years old, complete with my college ring, able to buy copious amounts of alcohol if I so desired. I decided to sit in the exit row, taking the window seat, in the event we flew over New Bedford so I could say "I can see my house from here!". In the aisle seat of my row was a 30-something male. During the takeoff preparations one of the flight attendants walks up to our row, looks at me and says, in a sweet-like-she's-dealing-with-a-child tone, "You know, you have to be at least 15 years old to sit in the exit row."
I wanted to deck her. I was seriously appalled. I responded , "I'm 21." To which, she said "Oh!" and then hurried off down the aisle. The guy next to me gave me a sympathetic look, but to this day, I am still flabbergasted and a bit embarrassed by this whole interaction. For the love of Pete, I was LEGAL DRINKING AGE. Only months from graduating college (and nearly 22), and you think I might be 14 years old? Or less? Holy Shit.
So, either she was completely retarded, or I am drinking from the fountain of fucking youth.
I have the same problem...i could get children movie tickets until i was in college...
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