I’ve lived in Lebanon for two and a half years and I love it. I really do. But I confess: I tend to have ungenerous thoughts toward Lebanese people when I’m with a large number of them on airplanes.
It starts in the gate area. A certain slice of the Lebanese demographic have around 2.5 kids who are usually pacified by iPads while their botoxed mothers take selfies. For the other Lebanese demographic, the more the merrier, and at least four of their 7+ children are crying hysterically. Maybe because they wish they had iPads (in those moments, I certainly wish they did).
When it’s time to board, I will be shamelessly cut in line. Generally, it’s the men who are guilty of this - maybe I look blonde and dumb - but the audacity! Next time, I’m going to shame them into orderly conduct by making a show of letting them go ahead of me. More than anything, the shame tactic generates results in this country. (Well, shame and bribes.)
Always without fail, once we’re on the plane and busy finding our seats, a verbal spat will break out among passengers who didn’t look carefully at their boarding passes and mistook their seat numbers. Or they’ll try to rearrange the seating assignments so that their party of 12 can sit together. It takes two or three crew members to calm everyone down.
During takeoff, the grandma next to me crosses herself, praying to Saint Charbel to postpone her meeting with God. Then she’ll turn to me and ask me the usual placement questions: 1) where are you from, 2) are you married, 3) why aren’t you married, 4) do you have a boyfriend, 5) why don’t you have a boyfriend. Then she’ll look at me, half perplexed, half pitying, and say, don’t worry, I’ll find you a good Lebanese boy to marry. I roll my eyes.
Once we’re in the air and the food is being served, they’ll ask for things that aren’t on offer. Like anything other than what’s in the food cart. It takes forever for the frazzled attendant to get to me, and I’ll smile at him or her sympathetically and just ask for water, their relief palpable.
Upon landing and taxiing, at least 15 people will get out of their seats and start rummaging in the overhead compartments, ignoring the cabin crew who are exasperatedly trying to get them to take a seat…since the plane is still moving. And inevitably, at least one bag will fall out of the compartment onto some unsuspecting person’s head. Probably mine (it’s happened more than once).
But once we’re at the gate and we’re waiting for them to let us off, everyone will be laughing and talking to each other, exchanging well wishes on their return to the homeland. The atmosphere is warm and exuberant. And I’ll heave an internal sigh and tell myself to get over it. For as long as I live here, these are my people. And as exasperating as they can be on an airplane, they’re still completely lovable on the ground… Most of the time. ; )
