Air flight is usually a relatively similar situation for everyone. But every once in a while, someone’s experience may be a little more, shall we say, “personalized.” This was one of those times.
Y’all, I am short. No, not just short…I mean REALLY short. Like, just about 4’6” short (I used to be just shy 4’7” but I’m shrinking. Isn’t that special?).
Between being so pint-sized and inheriting my mother’s “good skin,” I’ve looked younger than my age for pretty much my whole life. When I was 19, I was still able to consistently get into the movies for kids’ prices if I wanted to, and people thought I was in my 20s until I was way into my early 40s.
Meanwhile, thanks to my dad’s side of the family, I went gray early, so nowadays, people don’t tend to think I’m all that much younger than my years, which, frankly, is a nice change of pace. But when we were getting onto our plane a while back, something happened that I hadn’t experienced in YEARS…
We had been assigned exit-row seats. This was before I deemed myself ineligible to fulfill the required duties (I don’t work out anymore and it’s questionable if I could lift and/or “throw” the door anymore, if needed. But back then, I easily could). At the time, I didn’t care if we got exit row seats or not; it’s not as if I needed the legroom or anything. We usually wouldn’t pay for an exit row, so it tended to be a non-issue. But Joe is tall, so when they gave them to us for free, I didn’t say anything because I knew it would be more comfortable for him.
Anyway, we were flying from MCO to LGA and as it turned out, our plane was switched towards the last minute so they had to move our seats. It was still an exit row, just a different row number. The scanner caught the issue when we were getting ready to board the plane, so it beeped when I gave them my boarding pass.
“BEEEEEP!”
“We need a new boarding pass, Nicole,” said Joshua, who hadn’t given me any eye contact.
Nicole gave Joshua a new boarding pass for me. Still no eye contact, but he must have noticed my height, as he said, “Thank you! Oh wait, she can’t go in the exit row. She’s under 15.”
Me: “WHAT?!?!?”
He finally looked at me. His facial expression changed completely, from bored to, well, a little shocked.
“Oh! How old are you? NO! Wait! I…I…I mean, you’re over 15, right?”
I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him or kill him, to be honest. It had been a LONG time since someone thought I was that young. But after several decades of people thinking I was younger than I was, it had gotten old. Still was.
As am I. 😉
I let him know that I was more than 3 times the age of a 15-year-old, I was fine to sit in the exit row and not to worry about my height; I could do whatever was needed in the case of an emergency…I worked out and I was a badass (for the record, I’m still a badass; I just don’t work out anymore).
He giggled nervously at my lame joke (the bag people at the supermarket laugh harder when I use that line when they ask if I want help putting my bags into my car), looked even a little more embarrassed, and let me on my way.
So I got my exit row – complete with window seat (thanks, Joe!)
But really….15?!?!?!?!
Want to comment on this post? Great! Read this first to help ensure it gets approved.
Want to sponsor a post, write something for Your Mileage May Vary, or put ads on our site? Click here for more info.
Like this post? Please share it! We have plenty more just like it and would love it if you decided to hang around and sign up to get emailed notifications of when we post.
Whether you’ve read our articles before or this is the first time you’re stopping by, we’re really glad you’re here and hope you come back to visit again!
This post first appeared on Your Mileage May Vary
Join our mailing list to receive the latest news and updates from our team.