De nada

I’m going to share this story with you emphatically not to say anything about me/us, but just as a note, as a story, as a Humans of the Air sort of thing, and perhaps a nudge, not based on what we ended up doing – which was negligible – but on what the flight attendant said about the situation.

So we were in a major airport out west, waiting for our flight back here to Birmingham.

Across from me was a woman with a baby in a carrier and a little girl, no more than four years old. They were Hispanic, and it became clear to me in observing her interactions with the gate agent, that she spoke not a word of English. And he didn’t speak Spanish. At one point, she was asking him something (I couldn’t hear what) and he kept asking for her ID, but then it turned out in the end she was asking where the restroom was. It was like that. A mess.

There was a moment in which she went over to the gate agent, leaving the baby in the carrier on the floor – it’s not like it was far, mind you – and the baby started fussing just a little, so I crossed over and just did what one does – rock the carrier and make faces and noises and such. Not too intrusive – didn’t pick the baby up, but just rocked the carrier. The little girl came over and it became evident to me that she only spoke Spanish as well.

The events as they evolved weren’t that dramatic, but just clearly a bit challenging for a woman traveling alone with two children in a country whose language she didn’t speak. I stepped up when the gate agent was trying to explain to her that she’d have to gate check the carrier, and she was not understanding this – so I got my son, who speaks a bit of Spanish – over to translate, which he did. At which point it was time to board and the gate agent said to us, “Would you mind boarding with them and helping out?”

So we did, and it was no big deal – she got the baby out of the carrier, we carted the carrier and the bag she couldn’t manage. There was confusion about their seats, which I still don’t understand, but oddly enough, they ended up sitting in the row behind us, and I typed out “If you need anything ask us” in Google Translate on my phone and showed her the Spanish and my son said, “Well, I could have said that.” We established which family were meeting her in Birmingham, where she was from and their names, and my gracious, those children were perfect for that almost three-hour flight.

All’s well that ends well. We carried their bags when they got off the plane, which was interesting because she, like most people around the world, does not come from a culture that is as slavishly addicted to orderly lines as we are, so when the time to disembark arrived, she picked up that baby and charged up the aisle from the back of the plane and because we had her bags, well, we had to follow, and that was awkward, as you can imagine if you’ve ever waited patiently for row after row to deplane ahead of you.

We waited for the carrier, and when it came, she asked the baggage handler, Maleta? – referring to her checked bag, so now my Spanish vocabulary has been expanded by one more word, and then her phone rang while the baby was fussing a bit, so I took the baby – Jose! – and ended up carrying him through the airport while she talked on the phone, I presume to her relatives who were, indeed, there to meet her, with the women immediately swarming over the baby and everyone saying gracias and buenas noches and some of us…. phew.

In the midst of all of this on the flight, partly because of the mild stress of this situation (What if her primo isn’t there? Which of my son’s Mexican friends will I have him call so their mother can talk to this woman and help her? What will we do???) and some residual stress from the weekend (not bad at all, just figuring-out-life stuff), Mama was ready for a drink, especially with Lent coming, so when the cart came around, I requested white wine and the flight attendant handed it over, paused, looked at me and said, “This one’s on me. Thank you for helping. Most people wouldn’t lift a finger. Believe me. I see it all day. ”

That hit me. I mean, I’m always up for a free drink, so thanks, but it’s just so very depressing to think that most people would watch a woman struggling with a situation like this – no matter what the language situation was – and just…watch and get back to their phones.

No, you don’t want to intrude and presume, but done in the correct, respectful, cheerful spirit, no sane person will be offended by an offer to help. I kept thinking of the second worst moment of my life and how I, speaking no Italian, was helped by strangers after, you know, leaving my kids on the station platform in Padua.

I’m trusting that this flight attendant has seen a whole lot in her dealings with the public, and her brief testimony grieves me a little.

It’s not hard. That bag isn’t that heavy. Life is short.

For heaven’s sake. Just….help.