Editor’s note: Last week, Marc wrote about an impending confrontation with a maskless passenger, in the The Maskless Man, Part 1. You can read it here. The short version: Marc is flying to Reno. He spots a dude, who looks angry and riled up, who will be getting on his flight. He is certain he is headed for a confrontation with the person. This is the story of that confrontation.
Okay, where were we? Oh yeah. I was sitting back, observing the aggressive, monkey-man. Did I mention that his girlfriend was with him? She didn’t have a mask either. Did I mention that we are headed to Reno (the only place in my piloting career where I have had to kick someone off a flight)? Did I mention the only people that fly in and out of Reno, are people up to no good? (I apologize if you live in or are planning to visit Reno soon; your terrible childhood and resulting misdeeds are not entirely your fault).
A gate agent arrived. Not to where the angry dwarf was standing (I use dwarf in the Lord Of the Rings sense, not making reference to someone who suffers from dwarfism), but at the ticket-scanning podium. I approached the podium to check-in for the flight. As I do, I know that I am revealing myself to the anti-masker. I also know that the gate agent doesn’t know that he is about to be accosted by an angry little troll (I use troll in the Brother’s Grimm sense, not someone who suffers from actual Trollism).
No sooner than I say, “How ya doing?” to the gate agent, then the angry-hobbit-without-a-mask comes storming across the gate area (I use hobbit, in this instance, to refer to someone who is actually suffering from hobbitism). All I could think was, “Get up for it. Things are about to get crazy.”
“Hey? Hey who the F##% do I need to talk to, to get a gate agent over here to help us? I’ve been on the line with your customer service for an hour. Your company f#%$ing sucks.” The man was oozing hostility and suffering from short man’s complex. I had to look at him with fascination, like a zoologist studying a new kind of beast. How interesting! He was so unlike me. I have always hated conflict and shied away from it unless backed into a corner of the insufferable. He seemed to thirst for it. (Well, I will make a note of this in my specimen journal).
“Hey buddy,” I say, doing my best to channel my inner Matthew McConaughey, “Where’s your mask?” I was really hoping, he would see the uniform and immediately recognize that he was dealing with the sheriff in town. Okay, admittedly, I am just the first officer, so at best, I am a deputy, but I was hoping that HE would THINK he was dealing with the sheriff. Instead of turning it down a notch and holstering his six-shooter of rage, this crazy cowboy came out, guns a-blazing.
“Excuse me? You want me to wear a mask? I have a medical waiver and you are now violating my HIPAA. Thank you very much.” So, I take a deep breath, knowing that I am in the terms of the poker player, about to bluff big,
“Okay.” I say, “If you want to fly on this flight, you are going to have to tone down your aggressive energy and wear a mask.” I hold my breath waiting for a response. It comes swift and ridiculous.
The raging-Renoite takes his sweatshirt and wraps it around his face, covering his mouth (good) and his eyes, ears, and hair (unnecessary, but appreciated). “Is this better? Do you like this? Now can I ride?”
Still trying to keep a calm demeanor, but now having all the eyes of everyone in the boarding area on me, I slowly drole back, “Yeah, that’s better, if you want to wear it like that, it could work.” He unravels the sweatshirt in a fit of rage and says,
“F$%# you man!” Now first officer or not, if you are a passenger and you are hoping to show the traveling powers-that-be that you are of suitable mind to get on an airplane, I recommend that you do not to curse out your pilot (any of them). We have egos (big ones) and principals. He had forced my hand. I turned to the gate agent and said as confidently as I could muster,
“That guy is not getting on this flight.” The gate agent nodded in agreement. The guy dropped some more f-bombs in exclamation and then gave me two middle fingers as he scurried off to whatever hole Reno people come from. His girlfriend asked with exasperation,
“So what? You are kicking us off?” I felt a little sorry for her. What poor life choices had led her to live in Reno AND hitch her wagon to this guy?! I tried to keep my cowboy cool.
“You can come, if you wear a mask, he can’t though.”
“Great. Just great.” She wailed as she chased after her angry midget-man lover. Referencing her body language, I don’t think she actually thought it was great. The gate agent turned to me,
“So, we are sticking to our guns on this?” I imagined the nightmare the poor flight attendants and fellow passengers would have to endure if he made it on the flight. I could also see a scenario where, if the angry man acted up, we would have to divert and not even make it to Reno. Of course not making to Reno is never an all bad thing. I nodded to the gate agent.
“Yeah.” Then I added the caveat, “I mean it’s not really up to me. Technically that’s the captain’s authority, but I would highly recommend those people not get on.” The gate agent nodded and said,
“Don’t worry, I got your back.”
Unbeknownst to me, my flight attendants were standing behind me during the whole fracas and now as we walked down the jet bridge, they were thanking me profusely. I felt the raw power going to my head. “If any anyone else causes you trouble, you send them to me! I’ll kick them all off!” (I didn’t actually say that, but I felt it inside). Still, I was treated like a hero. Normally, I get one sparkling water before each flight, let’s just say on this flight I was offered two sparkling waters (we don’t have to “just say,” there was no euphemism; I was offered and accepted two sparkling waters).
When the captain arrived ten minutes later, I was coming in from my inspection of the outside of the aircraft. He said with a good-natured tenor in his voice, “So I hear you are kicking people off the airplane?” I got a little sheepish.
“Yeah, I mean, I know you have final say, I would just recommend that guy doesn’t get on…”
He cut me off, “It sounds like you made a good decision.”
I think to myself, “Yeah, I did. I am badass! I’ll kick everyone off the airplane if I have to!” The flush of confidence from embracing conflict started going to my head. Maybe I did understand the troll man more than I thought. I started thinking of where else I could assert my authority: grocery stores, shopping malls, public transit! “I will kick everyone out of everywhere!” A vision flashed through my brain of someone in The Lord of the Rings, holding the Ring of Power while their ego raged out of control. I took a deep breath to bring me back to Earth. “I’m not the mask police. I’m just the first officer, just trying to do my job.” I take another deep breath, “Wait until I’m captain: no one gets on my plane. And I’m never flying to Reno again.”
Editor’s note: Marc flew to Reno the very next week. As he looks at his schedule, he has Reno on there at least two more times this month. So stay tuned. Another post about some Reno miscreant is highly likely.
