If you’ve taken a trans-Atlantic flight before, you know that for all you may plan to sleep on the plane, you rarely get your beauty sleep. This was one of those not-so-rare times. To begin, I had lost my neck pillow within three minutes of arriving at O’Hare. I must have dropped it, and of course airline employees are very good about removing anything that might possibly prove a potential threat.
Across the aisle from me was a little Spanish family who looked like they had some gypsy blood to them. The little girl was tiny and busy, playing with her little toys and wanting to watch movies on either Mom’s or Dad’s entertainment system, but never her own. Her face was a miniature Spanish version of my Pastor’s littlest girl’s right down to the nose shape. She finally went to sleep in the final two or so hours of the flight.
In front of me was a sea of mainly blonde American students, who must have been going on a study abroad trip. They were fairly quiet, but did an astounding amount of texting as testified by the amount of flashing from their phones getting notifications.
