To one person, it meant not letting anyone stand in the way of getting somewhere.
22D was the self-proclaimed in-flight hero of United Airlines flight #6676. Capable of relentless hacking whether on the ground or at 22,000 feet.
22D may not have been born a hero. Who is, really? It’s a badge one only displays when called upon. And on this night he was weak and tired, with an untreated upper respiratory infection. Yet, as he boarded his flight at Chicagos O’Hare Airport last Saturday night, he boldly cast any thoughts of his illness aside and showed everyone within breathing distance why he’s as indispensible as he believes himself to be.
Before the cabin doors could even close, he powered through a series of uncontrollable bacterial projections, hurling each burst of toxins skyward. Cough after nauseating cough he perservered for the entirety of the flight, following each with a loud snort as he drew the flegm and mucous back in from his nostrils, using all the strength he could muster. They just don’t make people like 22D every day.
In the watery eyes of 22D, cough drops are for the meek, oral suppressives the vices of quitters. The mere mention of the term Z-pack would land a cold, dead stare in return, as if you said tracheotomy.
Sensing the stares of those around him unfamiliar with his plight, he followed a similar flurry with a shrug and a modest excuse. “I had to run to get here.” That wasn’t just running, soldier. Yes, our gate was changed at the last minute from F19 to F1. But while I covered those same 18 gates in a dead run, with asthma and bone spurs in both heels, I was but a meaningless passenger sitting quietly in seat 21C.
Clearly this is a man who understands fortitude, perseverance, and several other fourth-grade level words. Valor? He’s read of it, surely. He must have.
