The AARP Exit Aisle

Last week I took advantage of my underemployment status and flew to Florida to spend some time on a beach. I know, traveling while unemployed is about as financially savvy as shopping at Whole Foods with food stamps. But hey, when else was I going to have 10 days to sit on the beach, relax, and invite skin cancer to take over my pasty facade?

Not for much longer, we hope.

But I digress. It was an interesting week. I got in some beach time, some pool time, and have worked myself into a love of open lap swimming...and all in all, I dealt with my immersion into great AARP retirement center with just a mild irritation. Waiting at traffic lights? Please, come to Chicago - I'll show you waiting. Standing in line at Publix? Again, step right up (there's a reason we go nowhere without books here). Worried about the best spot on the beach, far, far away from that smoker? PLEASE! You have a beach! And water you can enter before August! What's a little smoke amongst friends???

But perhaps my funniest moment of dealing with the Senior Set came on Saturday when I flew home. As I boarded my AirTran (yes, that bucket of death) flight in Sarasota, I grinned as two septaugenarians sat down - IN THE EXIT ROW in front of me. See, on AirTran, only those who fork over an additional $20.00 can choose to sit in the exit row. I restrained myself and took my $6.00 seat in the row behind - but when these two sat down, I was having second thoughts. I mean, hadn't a hundred or so people just needed to use those exits over the wing??? Shouldn't we be putting, I don't know, people who had used their muscles this decade in those chairs???

"You do recognize that you are seated in an exit row, and you are prepared to assume the duties required of sitting here?" asked the pretty flight attendant of the three in front of me.

Someone's very Jewish father, occupying the middle seat, with his full head of hair and slight Chicago accent, held up his hand to ask her to stop - he couldn't hear her while the other overhead annoucements were going on.

I looked at the fit, 30-something next to me and we shared a laugh.

"What was that, honey?" he asked again.

She repeated her shpiel. He and his wife Delores (well, she looked like a Delores) nodded - somewhat vigorously. Clearly they knew that admitting they couldn't put their luggage over their heads, let alone hoist a 40 pound door in an emergency, would result in the sacrifice of leg room that Delores, at 5'2", really needed.

My seatmate and I just grinned, tacitly acknowledging our fate. As we settled in for the ride home, we agreed that, if necessary, we could just talk loudly during the emergency, climb over them, and help ourselves out.

And maybe that's the lesson from Florida - that when you're surrounded by crazy people, or crazy days, you just have to accept the cards you're dealt, and find a working alternative. Don't sweat, don't get freaked out, don't tailgate, don't cuss (not even with your inside voice). Just sit back, let the crazies fly their Freak Flag, and enjoy the ride.

Usually, it's a lot more fun.