Again: Phyllis just would not accept injustice. Or to be more accurate, Phyl wouldn’t accept what Phyl perceived as injustice. In this, Phyllis was genius. Her brilliance in clipping the system was nothing less. None of her moves were untoward; she didn’t lie or break laws. She just used that feigned innocense and that incredible smile, to tweak the perception of the big boys, to undo their injustices.
Phyl was courteous, deferrent, and selfless. But in some motifs, she’d go from kitty to tiger and would not be denied. This is not a girl who bit her tongue. She could be singleminded and aggressive when she believed a system was taking advantage. She’d return items for unhappy friends afraid to try, she’d speak up or take up someone else’s cause, when no-one else would (a reason, in over 20 elections, she never lost) and she’d stick it to companies who had the absolute nerve to try to stick it to commonfolk like her. That was myphyllis. She was amazing.
Phyllis’trix3
The other day, our neighbor Theresa was explaining how difficult it was for her to sit her kids together on airlines with unassigned seats like Southwest. Flashback to another phyllispeeve, airline seating.
Our flights were usually long,to Florida or Massachusetts. Up to four times a year. Because of her bad knees, Phyllis always tried to get an aisle seat.
When the airlines, further and further, limited seat- and leg-room, and later differentiated more and more moneyed classes of seating, Phyllis was indignant with this injustice. She would arrange an aisle seat for her, a window for me, and an empty seat in the middle, so we could raise the chair arms for comfort. She would arrange that with, or most often without, the airlines’ help.
To get her wish, she was so creatively tricky and undauntedly sneaky, I’m unembarrassed to say I was appalled, but proud. One rarely saw outright aggression from phyl, or her considerable skills as an actress. But, when they’d try to sit her where she didn’t want to sit, the airline was comped for her matinee performance.
We only flew American and Southwest.
On American, with assigned seating, one couldn’t reserve the coach seats in the bulkhead area and emergency rows. Phyllis was indignant with this injustice.
Her progression would be
1—suck up to the agent
2—get huffy with the agent
3–play loudly to the onlookers and those behind her in line. Only once I know of, these tactics didn’t work. Papa took her to American at LAX. Phyl was standby and got bumped. So she fakefainted. Wink, wink. Papa says it was a perfect swoon. Of course, it worked.
Phyl would smile that smile and pour the compliments on the stewardess. “Oh, your eyes are so beautiful.” “Where did you get that gorgeous bracelet?” “You’re so nice, where would I send a complimentary letter?” (and she really would.) Then, when they did drinks, Phyl would always ask for the whole can, and another. (She also had a very-unPhyllis, territorial peeve that I thought would get us killed, but never did. If her knees were hurting toward the end of the flight, Phyllis would repeatedly tap, or even whack, the seat of the person, even if it were Godzilla, in front of her, who had the audacity to keep their seatback reclined, til they got the message.)
On Southwest, with unassigned, first-check-in seating, and later with 6 levels of pay for seated-first early bird, business class, membership class seating, Phyllis’ effort was to pre-empt the order, pre-board, and then save the seat between us.
At first, the progression was
1—get there one hour before flight, when the agent was just setting up, and give an incredible sob story that you’d think no-one would believe, like Tonya Harding just whacked her in the knee, or she was crumping and disjointed her ankle, and somehow get the agent to buy it and give her the little blue pre-boarding folder she’d then surreptitiously wave at me in triumph. Later, after her knee operation, she had her doctor’s certificate (thanks, Jan) to get the blue folder.
2—She’d take her blue pass, ask/insist/just take her husband with her, and preboard. It’s three across, so she’d stake out an aisle seat and an empty seat between us.
3—Put all sorts of our crap on the empty seat.
4—Perform. First, she’d put on a hospital mask. The parade of passengers would start. If anyone even thought even to look even to try to sit between us, she’d hack up a lung coughing. And when the plane was filling up, and anyone would ask if the empty seat were taken, Phyllis’d warn the person that she felt a duty to disclose that she was ill. Or, if the person would actually make a move, she’d remark she may be contagious and they’d be sitting there at their own risk. Often it eventuated that empty seat was the only one or one of two on the plane. She’d take off the mask and flash that brilliant, triumphant smile. Of course, if the plane were full, or it was an old lady, or the person had a pet, she’d drop the act and help them into the seat. The kids didn’t get their talent from me.
