I’m on the plane from San Francisco to Newark and the flight attendant is giving the whole back of the plane a lecture.
Some man has put his bag in the overhead bin incorrectly and she doesn’t like it.
“Whose bag is this??” she asks.
No one answers.
“Whose bag is this??” she asks louder.
“It’s mine,” a guy in the back mumbles.
“This is not how you put your bag in the overhead compartment,” she says.
“Sorry,” he says.
But she’s not done with her lesson.
“What you’ve done is put your bag in the small space between the bag that’s already in there and the compartment door. So it’s hanging right on the edge of the compartment.”
He says nothing.
“So if the bags move around mid-flight and someone opens the compartment door, your heavy bag is going to hurt someone because it is going to fall right on this poor gentleman’s head,” she says, holding the bag above the man sitting in the aisle seat.
Only she didn’t quite say the word “head.”
Because right in the middle of her saying the phrase “this poor gentleman’s head,” she dropped the bag.
Right on the poor gentleman’s head.
The man grabbed his head with both hands and started rubbing the top of his head. Proving that when it came to the falling of that heavy bag, she was at least right about one thing.
It would hurt.