Bizarre Flight Attendants

It has been my utter (and occasionally hilarious) misfortune to run into some of the strangest and most obnoxious flight-attendants ever while on planes (if that wasn’t obvious).

The first had an obsession with having all windows closed that bordered on psychotic. She would literally walk up and down the aisles, asking the passengers if they could please, kindly, shut their windows. We (being my mother, sister, and I) dubbed her “The Window Nazi” based on her ludicrous requests. For the entirety of the flight, she just about begged every person on the flight to shut the windows for no apparent reason. My mother muttered the sentiment “I paid for this ticket, and I’ll shut the window if I want to.”

The second flight attendant had a small pet peeve regarding the overhead bins, and she was the one designated to close them all before the flight began. If they didn’t close correctly on the first try, she would reopen them and rampantly rearrange the baggage, and then slam the doors shut as if they had personally wronged her.

The third, who I encountered yesterday while flying back from Denver, might have been the most hilarious flight attendant I have ever had to share an airplane with. I never saw this woman’s face, but learned enough about her through her speeches over the intercom to take her about as seriously as I do something that I do not take seriously at all. The first thing she did was tell as all that safety was her main priority.

She pleaded with us to please not get up when the seatbelt sign was on, for it was unsafe. She had already said the word safe about twenty-three times when the turbulence started. She came over the intercom, telling us to please fasten our seatbelts. I grasped my armrests in mock horror. The Safe Nazi said we were also going to have to put away our electronic devices early, because it was unsafe. She seemed rushed and anxious, as if we were experiencing a true crisis. She told us we weren’t allowed to use cellular phones until we landed, which we were all perfectly aware of. I put my hand on my mothers and said sarcastically, “Oh, good. I can’t wait to call our relatives to tell them that we are okay.”

When we finally landed, she began the spiel about “thanking us for our business.” Then she implored us to be cautious while in Vegas. She said to be careful with money, not to spend it all at once, and then to be especially cautious while driving, because “people drink here, y’know.”

This sent me as well as the people who I sat near into laughter. Because, obviously, Vegas is the only place where people drink. A boisterous man seating in front of me laughed loudly at the absurdity of her statement. An older woman beside me said “I think she just likes to hear the sound of her voice over the intercom.” I agreed with her. I wondered if the flight attendant noticed the distaste of her passengers, and hoped she did and would therefore stop being an infernal nag.

This experience set me to thinking. Do flight attendants become annoying deliberately? I can imagine that the job becomes tedious at points, and to break the monotony, perhaps flight attendants decide to do strange things in order to gauge the reactions of the people on the flight. A different personality every flight- that would certainly be interesting. But all in all I believe that maybe being in such high altitudes for countless hours, days on end, can turn young women into crazy old flight attendants with acute obsessions.

Image: http://brooklyn-newyork.olx.com/flight-attendant-training-course-online-iid-5178087

The Volvox: A Love Story

Looking back on myself as a bumbling freshman, I consider myself to have been one who held very few interests that intersected in any way with the academic studies undertaken in the high school environment. However, there are always exceptions to any standard set in place by The Man, and my exception was the Volvox.

Formerly unaware of the existence of this fascinating microorganism, I felt a fleeting spark of interest enter my mind when my Biology teacher first introduced to me this Volvox thing. It all began with a black and white diagram on a piece of printer paper, detail skewed and significance muffled by the grey residue which accompanies an image copied many times over. That, and a brief description of what the basic functions of a volvox include, a synopsis of its reproductive abilities, and other minor details concerning its existence.

In comparison to the multitude of other microorganisms we were studying, all of which accompanied the Volvox on the sheet of paper, one would think the volvox was as typical as its diminutive counterparts. However, I had an inclination that there just might be something special about this one, and thoughts of the volvox engulfed my brain for the remainder of the lecture.

We had the opportunity to see the microorganism of our choice by means of a microscope slide, and I knew what had to be done. I strode to my teacher’s desk and asked boldly if I could view the Volvox. She handed me a microscope slide which help a single drop of water in the center, which was plastered underneath a protective sheet. As I made my way toward a microscope, a great exhilaration passed over me and into the volvoxes which inhabited the slide I grasped with my fingertips.

I felt as if I wasn’t yet worthy of the honor of observing such a creature, shrouded in magnificence. After all, I had only read about them. Yes, I had seen the basic diagram, but I thought myself no expert in the ways of the Volvox. My hands were practically shaking. I was about to meet the Volvox, and I was thrilled.

I became further intrigued with the Volvox from the moment I laid eyes on it through the microscope eyepiece. The way they rolled around so blissfully- the effortless, soothing motion- in company with their almost fluorescent yellow-green hue was somehow breathtaking and charming. It was algae working in tandem, groups of cells coexisting together to create one being. It was a colony. It was brotherhood. And it was beautiful.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I stared with enchanted incredulity for a long while, mesmerized by the rhythmic revolutions of the round chlorophytes, until, unfortunately, I had to return to my work. But I will never forget and will remain forever changed by my enlightening day with the Volvox.

Antiques..

My mother and I frequently go on “adventures.” We enter any store we find interesting, threatening, or anything else that sparks our curiosity (pawn shops, “psychic” book shops, consignment stores, antique stores, Goodwill, and Summerlin furniture stores far out of our price range just to mess around, etc) These “adventures” usually consist of going on errands to find something generally out of the blue (and there is little chance we actually find it). This weekend, it was a chest of drawers.
The drawers in my room broke more than a month ago, and are now jutting out at strange angles. Not to mention, I can’t open the drawers and put my clothes inside, so the floor surrounding is stacked up with various articles of clothing. I never imagined how difficult it would be to find a replacement- something unique, preferably paintable for the sake of personalization, the correct size, and not hideously expensive.

So far we’ve had zero luck, and have gone out searching for said chest of drawers every weekend for nearly a month. This weekend my mother proposed we go downtown and check out the thrift and antique stores to see if we could find anything of interest.

We passed a large antique mall, and decided to venture inside. They didn’t have what we were looking for, but they had just about everything else one could possibly imagine.

Antique stores are inspiring in a way, and the items there spawn questions in my mind as I look at them. I am quite fond of old things. Old books have an exquisite, unique scent and are genuinely charming (Where were they shelved before this? Who read them?), old dolls are wonderful (Who played with these throughout the years? Who was this special to?), old photographs are enchanting (Who possibly could have parted with these? How did they end up here? Who are these people and what were they like?), and whatever I decide to purchase (if anything) makes me feel like I’ve come home with a miniscule slice of history, however worthless it may be.

Needless to say, it was nearly impossible for my mother to pry me from the store. It seemed to continue endlessly: I would spend a long while inside any particular section, gazing at perhaps old Star Trek figurines, and then something like an old telephone would catch my eye from across the room, but on the way I would just need to stop and look at a nameless woman’s ancient wedding photos, strewn helplessly among the lost articles of other people, fractions of unknown lives- an eerie sort of memoriam. Entire photo albums- the year 1927 of someone’s life, photographs paired with cursive-penned descriptions: a year lost and now stacked among musty bags of Marvel comic books and old postcards.

The Past 18 Minutes

Yesterday, when I plugged in my computer to the power strip sitting beside my bed, an error screen materialized after I turned on my laptop. It stated that somehow the power source was messing up or something, and wondered if I wanted to continue on down this seemingly threatening path.

Because I had never received such a message before, I was curious to see if I could discover the cause. So I checked to make sure the power strip was plugged into the wall completely, which it was. Then I checked to make sure the thingy that connects the laptop to the power strip was plugged in completely to the power strip, which it was. Finally, I checked to make sure the thingy that connects the laptop to the power strip was plugged in completely to the laptop which is was…n’t.

Actually, it was. However, the black covering had been bent to such extremes that it had ripped, revealing the wires underneath. Not the greatest of signs. Because of its potentially hazardous state, I resorted to using my computer’s battery instead, which is something I rarely do. Close to never. I only use my battery when I need to bring my computer elsewhere besides my all-too-comfortable bed, where it is about 99.7% of the time. (I understand that keeping a laptop in one place continuously defeats the purpose of even having a laptop, but that is an argument for later date.)

Using the battery causes the screen of my computer to become perpetually dim, which is disappointing in comparison to the brightly-colored and stimulating graphics that typically accompany the usage of my laptop. Instead of a pure, mind-boggling white, the background of this Microsoft Word document has a twinge of sickly grey, which looks downright unhealthy.

I do not use to battery frequently for that reason, along with the fact that using a battery instead of a constant power source can be utterly unnerving. I find my eyes constantly darting to the bottom right corner of the screen, checking to see just how much time I have left. The battery icon empties spitefully, its life shrinking down to nothingness, and it mocks me so cruelly: Only thirty-seven more minutes, Julia. Thirty-seven minutes until the end.

This was my experience today, when I opened my computer and turned it on to realize that I had but thirty-seven minutes to spit out this article. Now the malicious battery reads that I have twenty-four minutes until oblivion. Twenty-three now. Twenty-two.

So, I guess I will have to come to terms with the fact that my computer will look unwell and that this battery-anxiety will plague me until my mother can locate for me a new power-cord. (Twenty-one.) That, or I can risk electrocution by using my power-cord, which I am now (Twenty.) considering.

Nineteen.

BRAAAAAAINS

Halloween is a night dedicated to merriment and rambunctiousness supplemented by sugary treats (i.e. candy). I believe it to be one of the best holidays out there, because I enjoy dressing up in costumes, walking around at nighttime, and sugary treats (i.e. candy). Perfect holiday, no?

But there are some people out there who dislike Halloween with a frightening gusto, which is something I will never understand. I can not wrap my BRAAAIN around the fact that some people just don’t enjoy this tremendous celebration. Frankly, it scares me. It scares me more than zombies, werewolves, or vampires (“I’m here to suck you blood” vampires, mind you, not “I’m here to fall in love with you and be a sparkly Calvin Klein model” vampires).

I believe that those who dislike Halloween just do not comprehend its incomparable fun-potential and decide not to bask in its gory glory.

Halloween is obviously one of the best holidays available because it allows you to go up to random people’s houses and take things from them. Its virtually stealing, masked under the label of a holiday. Even if the only bounty recovered is Three Musketeers bars and sometimes-stale licorice, it’s better than getting arrested for breaking and entering and having that on your record. Kleptomaniacs, unite.

And it’s also undeniable that scaring young children is incredibly rewarding and entertaining. My parents like to go all-out for Halloween, which occasionally terrifies the unfortunate children under the age of nine: setting up dried ice in a cauldron that looks like a convincing witch’s brew, shrouding themselves in orange and green light, blasting a haunted Halloween soundtrack complete with grotesque noises, scattering foam gravestones and other props throughout the yard, and my father, dressed as El Viscula (A demonic combination of Dracula and Elvis) cackling like a madman every few minutes.

And what could possibly be more fun than being somebody besides plain, boring, old you for one night? Personally, I think its something to take advantage of. For instance, this Halloween I dressed up as my sister, and it felt just great. (See picture above.)