“He is on da plane! Don’t you worry mamma, he is ON. DA. PLANE,” a woman reassured my mother as she caught her breath at the check-in counter.
At the age of sixteen I took my first flight. I was headed to Philadelphia to spend a week with friends of mine. But, the trip was not without a few bumps in the road.
With Atlanta traffic, we arrived at the airport late. We hurried inside to grab my boarding pass and a security pass so my mother could walk me to my gate. First my mother, sister, and I ended up at the wrong security checkpoint, and took another break when my they had to stop at the restroom. Finally through security, we hopped on the airport subway to take us to concourse “C.” We raced upward to the concourse and popped out right next to Gate C31. As soon as we crested the stairs we heard the loud airport speakers, “Reagan Wilbanks, please report to your gate immediately. Your flight is ready for take off.”
I looked down at my ticket to see what gate I needed to be at for the millionth time. The ticket read: Gate C3. I was nearly a quarter of a mile away from my gate. We started walking at a brisk pace when another announcement came through, “Final call for Reagan Wilbanks. Please report to your gate immediately.”
“Just go without us. Run, Reagan!” my mom blurted out.
Before she could finish I was off and I can just about guarantee that was the fastest quarter mile I ever ran. I arrived at the gate huffing and puffing, “I’m… Reagan…” I took a quick breath, “I am here for my flight to Philadelphia.”
“Oh honey, we just deleted your name from the system,” the woman at the check in counter explained to me.
“Uhh, could you add me back?” I asked innocently.
“Don’t you worry, sweetie. We’ve got you covered,” she told me.
I let out a sigh of relief as she directed me to the plane. After boarding, I was told there were two open seats, both in the middle of a row. I found the one closest to the front of the plane and sat down between an elderly man in the aisle seat, reading “Memory Man” and a middle aged man by the window, who had already fallen asleep.
Stories such as this are perhaps why flight anxiety exists, but for me the excitement of my first flight was no deterrent — it was quite the contrary. Before my flight ever landed in Philadelphia, I was already looking forward to my next adventure. By the age of sixteen, I was hooked on travel and I have been ever since.
Now, I would like to share some of my stories with you. Check back regularly to share in the adventure or subscribe and never miss an update! Stay classy my friends.