I am in the aisle seat of a plane on a cross-country flight. Atlanta to SFO, I think. A white man who is probably close to my age sits in the center seat. I glance over as he texts someone and comments on how he’s sitting next to “a fat girl.” I am in my 40s. He has just reduced me to my body, and reduced me to being “a girl.” Because I am not a person, an adult, a woman. I am a fat body. A fat girl. I stay calm, but I am on edge that entire flight. I do everything I possibly can to take up less space, lean as far to the aisle as I possibly can. I do not speak to him. I watch as he watches Fox News for the entire flight and think “of course he does.” I feel his hate, for me, for everything that does not revolve around his view of the world for the entire flight, even though we don’t speak a word except possibly a brief and necessary conversation about getting in or out of the seat to use the lavatory.
I am at Washington National airport, flying home to Oakland after a combination work/family trip. My first flight to Kansas City is very delayed, and the Southwest gate agents call me up and say “you’ll miss your connection so we’ve rerouted you through St. Louis - hurry over because the flight leaves in 10 minutes.” I am grateful to have been proactively rebooked so I have a hope of getting out of DC before nasty storms roll in later that day. I dread boarding because I am one of the last to board and I will surely have a middle seat and choosing that is the worst feeling because everyone is hoping they’ll have an empty seat. And then there are the people who avoid eye contact in hopes that the fat person won’t be the one to choose their middle seat. And then as I am scanning to the back hoping maybe there’s an empty aisle or window, a woman smiles and says “Do you need a seat?” and gestures to her middle seat. I smile and say “Yes, thank you” and stash my bag and take that seat, grateful for her welcome. She didn’t have to do that, and yet, I have to wonder if she saw my discomfort through my poker face, if she saw my body and said I can be kind when others would not be. Whatever her motivation, she made that middle seat less horrible, she made that couple hour flight okay.
I am in a souvenir store in Italy, Siena, I think. I am looking around, and I bump a display with my bag. I am apologetic, I do my best to communicate my chagrin, I do not break anything, but the shopkeeper is yelling at me, and it is clear he does not want me in his store. Even though I do not understand the words he is yelling at me in Italian, I know that he thinks I am too large to navigate his store and he does not want me there. I leave quickly, and hot tears stream down my face as I lose what joy I was having in this beautiful city. The day takes on a dark feeling in my mind. I do not want to be there anymore.
I am on the last leg of my trip home from Ecuador. I am flying home separately from S because I need to be back for work. We splurged and used award miles for first class seats there and back, but because I have rebooked my tickets at the last minute, I have a two-connection routing, and a first class seat back to Denver but the final leg to SFO is in coach. And I miss my original connection so I am rebooked. I turn on my charm and make friends with the gate agent in hopes he’ll keep an eye out for an aisle or window seat for me, and he does, getting me a window seat just as boarding begins. And I sit, and I cannot buckle the belt. I have to ask for an extender, and I am still at the point in my life when that brings me shame, when I am ashamed for not fitting into the world vs. being angry that the world does not accommodate me or others who live in larger bodies. I call over a flight attendant before my row-mates arrive and she brings the extender back after they’ve settled in. She folds it and discreetly hands it to me. It is a secret between us because it is supposed to be secret, even though my body is there for everyone to see. I am expected to feel this shame, and she believes that her discretion is the right thing to do because service is her job and she understands that this is something shameful.
These are just a few of many stories; some of which I can remember, and many of which I’ve blocked. With COVID I’ve not traveled much recently, and while I miss the exploration of the world, I don’t really miss navigating the world in a fat body. In my limited return to travel I am now working really hard on unlearning all of the shame. I am sometimes using the Southwest Customer of Size benefit to ensure an open middle seat. I have splurged for first class to visit my parents (who live outside of Southwest’s route network). I ask for an extender as I board, with a clear and confident voice and zero shame. And yet. This is emotional labor I have to do every time I wish to navigate the world. The Southwest policy demands that I am the one who “protects” my middle seat even though it is reserved for me. It demands that I call attention to my needs if, because of a late connection, I am unable to board early enough to secure two seats. It demands that I spend about a month dreading a downgrade from first to coach because of an aircraft change that United made on a flight to see my family. (And let’s not even get me started on them saying “We won’t give you a refund or a second seat because we consider it the same fare class.” I paid for a first class seat, you downgraded me to a coach seat but it’s “the same.” Sure, Jan.)