Adding to the noise

"Remember the plan."

When was the last time you got that phrase?

"Remember the plan" became unnecessary at the same time plans did. Locations, times and contacts mean nothing. Obscure notions, really, like Emerson's essay on history or what really goes into a hot dog. We have apps. We need not plans. Down with memory. Upload to Facebook.

Sitting at an airport, overhearing the conversations going on around me, it's hard not to laugh.

"Oh I don't know when he'll meet me. I'm supposed to text him sometime after I land, and we'll figure it out," she says, before looking over her shoulder at groups A through C boarding.

We are group E.

"Gaw, what is taking so long?" she whines to the unlucky sap on the other end.

"Why?" I want to ask. "Have somewhere pressing to be? Do you a have a definite scheme that requires clockwork precision?"

The first time I flew alone as an adult, I missed my seat because they gave it away 30 minutes before boarding time despite me checking in an hour prior to boarding. The last ditch policy of a now defunct airline bent on making sure passengers followed its plans. Plans that were crucial in a time where passengers made arrangements for pick-up at their destination before ever reaching their departing airport. Plans that were unyielding and unchanging if weather permitted. The plans of the many could not be subject to a holding pattern because of the flippant attitude of the sole college student going home for the holidays who feels he can arrive at the gate anytime he wants in this post-9/11 world.

No flight of mine since has adhered so strongly to this sense of accountability to a schedule. More telling, I nearly bowled over a tiny old woman in the Memphis airport to catch my connection to LaGuardia on time only to have the gate attendant give me a hearty "psh" and upward flick of her wrist when I apologized for getting there one minute late, bearing the scars of watching my sleigh ride home pull away from the terminal at 6 a.m. all those years ago. But silly me. It's a cell phone culture. No need to worry about what the actual departure time printed on the boarding pass. No need to plan on someone penciling in a retrieval at my destination airport until I call from the tarmac I am leaving behind here.

Whoops, my bad. I didn't realize you meant smart phones too, Fran. Is being a flight attendant interesting work?

Once I arrive home and somewhat unpack, I go to the kitchen and open the cupboard. Glass or plastic cup? Hm.

"What are you getting to drink?" Amy inquires casually as she passes to the snack shelf.

"Geez. Lay off, woman," I reply. "I don't plan that far in advance."