The past couple of weeks have been special. Two Sunday’s ago, we were on our way to a baby blessing. Porter was driving and I was in the passenger’s seat. I was looking up the address of the church building we needed to go to when my phone slipped from my fingers and fell in between the seat and the center console. I unbuckled my seat belt so I could reach under my chair and grab it. When I looked up, Porter was slamming on the breaks and our car wasn’t stopping. We slid right into the middle of the intersection and crashed into a car that was turning left. To brace myself, I had put my hands out on the dash only to be met by the exploding airbag.
The next thing I remember was a lady opening my door and trying to get me out of the car. I heard her say something about smelling smoke and I needed to get out. My neck and chest felt like they were on fire. When I finally came to my senses, I got out of the car as people started telling me I needed to get to a hospital. I kept telling everyone I was fine, especially since I couldn’t really say what hurt on me at the time.
I eventually made my way to the doctor. The airbag broke my finger and sprained my wrist. I always imagined airbags being soft pillow-like contraptions, but they are the exact opposite. Since I was leaning forward in my seat, the airbag went straight into my chest and burned the skin on my neck and chest. It sucked, but I’m pretty grateful it wasn’t worse. Like I said, I wasn’t securely fastened to my seat, so I could have easily flown through the front window.
Our car was totaled. I’m currently wearing a ridiculous contraption on my wrist and finger (which I only plan on wearing for another week…two tops). I promise there is a reason for this ridiculously long injury update. The weekend following our accident, Porter and I made our way to Granite Bay via Southwest for my baby brother's "Senior Night" and to go to Apple Hill (obvi).
We got on the first plane and looked for an available seat. We found one and started to put our bags in the overhead compartments. I was struggling because I tend to over pack, so my bag was super heavy, and I only had my one hand to lift with (since the other was in a brace).
Upon noticing I was having a difficult time, Porter started to help me. The flight attendant was standing right next to us, sighing in frustration as we were “holding up the line.” I tried to joke about the situation, making a comment about how there are only two hands between Porter and I (I guess I need to temporarily change the name of the blog to two arms, two people, one good story?). The flight attendant didn’t find it very funny. Since she was on my right side, I just figured maybe she didn’t see that I had a busted left arm, so she missed the joke.
The flight attendant continued to provide us with unwanted attention. I ultimately assumed the flight attendant was just grumpy; after all, it is a tough job. But in reality, she was panicking inside. It turns out, we had sat down in the emergency exit row and she was trying to find a way to tell us we couldn’t sit there.
She stared at Porter’s right side (he was in the isle seat), and frantically tried to come up with a way to tell us we would have to move. By law, you have to be “physically able” to assist other passengers in the event of an emergency, which requires two able hands.
I could literally see her racking her brain for a nice way to tell us we needed to find another seat.
I started to giggle, and in an effort to conceal my laughter, I gave the flight attendant the perfect scapegoat.
“You two can’t sit here,” the flight attendant finally blurted out.
“Why not?” I asked (with a sassy tone most likely).
*Yes, I did push her buttons, mostly because I wanted to see her botch an explanation. Too cruel? Absolutely. But it’s a perk of the situation, and I fully intend on using all of them.
“Well you can’t sit here (insert silent pause here)…because you have a hurt hand,” she explained.
“Oh, but he can?” I refuted, pointing at Porter.
She paused for a second, fumbling though her words. I thought about stepping in and ending the awkwardness, but where is the fun in that?
“HAAAAA!” Porter exclaimed for an obnoxiously long period of time while simultaneously putting the flight attendant out of her misery, “Looks like you are the handicapped one now!”
Touché, flight attendant, touché.
We have since learned about the magic of pre-boarding to avoid these types of encounters. Turns out, all we have to do it walk up to the counter, say Porter doesn’t have an arm, and we get on the plane before the fancy business select folks do.
Until next time,
*Remember there are only 10 more days to donate to our tree! We just passed the 50% mark of our goal and we could use any and all help we can get! Thank you for all the love and support!