I was traveling for work to Utah and Montana and had just completed my meetings in Salt Lake City and arrived at the airport the next morning for a flight to Bozeman, Montana. I am not a great air traveler, although I have done plenty of it. I get motion sickness very easily, something I inherited from my father.
I had carefully planned the Bozeman trip to take one of the few jets that traveled the route each week and avoid the small prop planes making most of the trips between the two cities.
As I sat at the gate, I wondered if the flight had been canceled since there was only one other passenger in the waiting area besides me. An announcement for all rows to board was made over the intercom, and I got up to join my fellow traveler and walk down the jetway to the plane. My heart sunk as they led us down the stairs from the jetway to an awaiting nine-passenger prop plane. “What happened to the 727 jet that was scheduled?” I asked. Well, since only two travelers wanted to fly in a snowstorm to Bozeman, they had canceled the larger plane and put us on a tiny one. It would be the pilot and the two of us going to Bozeman that morning.
My fellow passenger quickly realized I was unhappy with the smaller plane, and I explained to him my problem with motion sickness. The plane made a smooth take-off and began the eighty-minute flight to Bozeman. All was going well for the first half of the flight, but then the ride started to get bumpy. My fellow passenger sat near me and started to pepper me with questions about my trip, my hometown, and other questions. I was about to tell the man I didn’t want to be rude, but I wasn’t feeling well and would rather not keep talking to him. But before I could do so, he told me that he could tell I wasn’t feeling well and that I probably didn’t want to keep talking, but talking would help me keep my mind off the flight and make the time go faster. He was certainly right. I dived into the conversation, and in no time, the pilot announced that we were preparing to land in Bozeman.
I looked down at the airport and saw the airport lights, but all the runways were covered with snow. “Where are we going to land?” I asked the pilot. “Oh, we land on snow here,” was his reply. I didn’t have more than another moment to panic before the wheels touched down, and we taxied up to the terminal.
After we walked into the terminal I sat down to recover from the turbulence, and the kind fellow passenger sat down with me for twenty minutes until he was sure that I was OK to walk to the car rental area and drive to my hotel.
I will never forget his kindness.
