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I heard these words yelled at me as we were deplaning at JFK. We had just landed and pulled up to the jetway. We were delayed for about two hours, so there was some tension in the cabin. The ding went off to alert us that we could unbuckle our seatbelts, and “aisle jumpers” were allowed to get into the aisle.
Aisle Jumper [def.]:
person or people who immediately move from their seat into the aisle of an airplane when informed it is ok to do so
I was sitting back in row 30-something, so I didn’t move. I didn’t jump. I didn’t get into the aisle. However, my seatmate was hoping I would as he jumped to his feet. When he saw that I didn’t move, he exclaimed loud enough for people 4-5 rows in either direction to hear,
“Couldn’t you at least TRY!?!?”
Civil, the root of civility, generally translates into “niceness” when speaking with professionals in the workplace. It’s one of those words that creates a contrasting irony when used as an adjective, “civil war, civil disobedience, civil unrest, etc.” Civility is more than just being nice or kind, it’s about creating an atmosphere of respect. It is responding with understanding and patience in the face of disruption and hostility.
My initial reaction was NOT to be civil. I wanted to be very “uncivil,” as it were. My natural tendency was to say something snarky or sarcastic, as those who know me can probably attest to. However, I also realized that the stressful circumstances may have affected my neighbor in the row. So, I gathered all the patience I could and said, “My apologies. I’ll be happy to move out of the way,” and stepped to the side so he could get into the aisle. Unfortunately, the aisle was now filled with people, and his frustration mounted as he sat back down with an angry “harrumph” under his breath. He then turned to his wife and started mumbling quite a few unpleasantries about me. I stood there in silence and discomfort thinking, “When the heck is this plane going to deboard?” It felt like an eternity; although, it was probably the standard 5-10 minutes.
When we finally got off the plane and went into the terminal, I thought the situation was over and I would never encounter my seatmate again. I was wrong. I was standing in the terminal looking at the monitors to see where I needed to go next, and I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. It was him. My initial thought was that I just got yelled at on a crowded airplane by this guy; now I’m about to get beat up in the middle of an airport by him. This was not part of the frequent flyer experience you see in the brochures.
Before I could say anything, he said, “I’m sorry.” I was floored. He went on to explain how he and his wife had been travelling for days and were continually rerouted, delayed, and rebooked over that time while they were trying to get to Europe to see their grandkids. He appreciated my response and seemed to genuinely show remorse for his outburst. In addition, his wife was standing about six feet behind him with her arms folded and a stern look on her face, so who knows, but...The power of civility isn’t about being right or winning. It’s about diffusing. It can be about offering a mirror, reflecting back not the ugliness of anger, but the quiet strength of understanding and grace.
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