No Fish In This Story

This story would probably have better continuity with yesterday's story if I said that it occurred while returning from our dive trip to the Florida Keys, where I saw life itself emerge from a coral reef, but that wouldn't be true.  This story occurred on a different trip with Beth, this time coming back from a week's vacation in the Bahamas.

We were at the airport, waiting for the flight that was to bring us back home.  We had cleared customs and airport security, such as it was in the 1990s and in the Bahamas at that, and were waiting in the main terminal for our flight to arrive.  We were returning from a very pleasant week, with some exciting dives, good meals, and just the right amount of romance, and were in good spirits as we bought some books and magazines and prepared for our flight back home.  When our departure was finally announced, we and our fellow passengers were all led to a small waiting area at the gate.

There was one problem, though - it was immediately apparent that there was no plane outside of the gate for us to board.  Airport security told us to wait a moment while they went to find out what the mix-up was, and left, closing and locking a door behind them.  We were all stuck in one little room with few seats and less of an idea of what was going on. 

We waited for a minute, then five, then ten, then even more, but no one came back to tell us what was going on or how much longer we were supposed to wait there at the gate. As mentioned, there were few seats, but there were also no refreshments, no concessions, no rest rooms, and no distractions.  

We all stood there, about 50 or so of us, not knowing what we were supposed to do next. But since Beth was a flight attendant, she knew that there would be a phone inside of the gate that connected to the flight tower, so after about 15 or 20 minutes of waiting, but mainly to shut me up because I was getting agitated, she went over and picked up the phone to get an explanation.

No one answered on the other end.

Well this, I decided, was unacceptable.  To start with, there was no rational reason that we had been led from the terminal to the gate when the flight obviously hadn't even yet arrived in the first place, and there was even less of a reason that we were all penned into the little gate area waiting for who knows what and for who knows how much longer.

Worse, Beth had taken the first initiative at some sort of proactive attempt to solve the problem, and all I knew to do was to just stand there like everybody else hoping that someone would come along and release us.  She had already done something, anything, and now it was my turn.  I was the man in this relationship (yeah, I know how that sounds), and I figured it was my place to do something about all this. 

I tried picking up the phone that Beth had used earlier, but I didn't get an answer either.  I went over by the entrance and tried banging on the glass wall to get someone's attention, but we were too far from the main terminal for anyone to have noticed (the gate was way down a long aisle from the main terminal).  I tried the locked door, jiggling the handle and shaking the door by its handle, but couldn't get through.  The thought of breaking down the door or smashing the glass with a chair occurred to me, but knowing the likely consequences of that action even in those pre-9/11 times kept me from going completely over the top.

Instead, I sulked.  I felt like I wasn't being treated respectfully and that I was being slighted.  My ego had been hurt and I was angry.  I went back over to where Beth was waiting and, talking louder than I probably should have, told her in no uncertain terms how unacceptable I found this whole situation and what I would have to say whoever finally showed up to release us.

I wasn't very good company for Beth just then - I wasn't very good company for myself - and I was making her and the people around us even more uncomfortable.  But I was angry and frustrated, and either couldn't notice or didn't care. I was not a pleasant companion to have around.

It was at about that time, while I was fussing and fuming and about ready to boil over, that I first noticed a young couple at the gate with us.  He was calmly sitting on the floor, reading a book with his back against a wall.  She was sitting next to him with her head resting contentedly on his shoulder.  They weren't miserable or angry.  They had everything they really needed right then and there - a book, each other - and therefore weren't experiencing the same hell I was putting myself through.

I had a book.  I had Beth.  The weather was actually quite pleasant where we were waiting and technically we were still on vacation.  I was neither hungry nor thirsty, and didn't need to use the bathroom.  The only reason I was so miserable, I realized, was because I had chosen to be miserable.  And suddenly, upon that realization, all my anger and stress and frustration just fell away, although I could sense that Beth was still a little leery of me.  The damage from my actions had already been done. 

Obviously, we were eventually released (otherwise, how would I be writing this?), and I don't even remember what the explanation was for our detention or if we were even given an explanation.  But I do remember the profound sense of realization that the only reason I was miserable and that other couple weren't was due to the different ways that we each had chosen to react to the situation.

Years later, I would be taught the The Second Noble Truth that our suffering is caused by clinging to our desires, and I didn't have to take it on faith or need a whole lot of convincing - I immediately thought of that afternoon at the gate in the Bahamas, and the realization that the only difference between Heaven and Hell is in the mind.