Gone Home, or Garbage Plane

A few days ago we flew back to the United States for Christmas, to introduce our new baby to friends and family and to just take a bit of a break from life in Jordan. We'll return to Jordan after a few months. Our direct flight on Royal Jordanian Airlines from Amman to Chicago was fairly uneventful, except for the man who shocked all of the stewards by emerging from the bathroom in the back of the plane and began casually meandering to his seat in the front of the plane literally as the wheels of the plane were touching down. In all the flying I have done, in many parts of the world and on many different airlines, this is something I have never seen before. The capper to it was his seeming unawareness--when screamed at to sit down by a stewardess--that he was doing something that in general the airlines quite frown upon. He just walked by her in no particular hurry and pointed towards the front, as if to mean that it was impossible for him to sit down at that time--no matter the position of the plane or the relative state of his safety--because he hadn't yet reached his seat.

Only after we had finally come to a complete stop and were allowed to exit, though, did we realize the carnage that had taken place on our 13 hour and 17 minute flight to Chicago. It dawned on us slowly at first as we struggled through the narrow aisle with our bags and our baby, but once we lifted our heads to observe our surroundings we could see that we were leaving behind an airplane drenched in garbage. There were newspapers strewn about everywhere, as if every passenger had one, and then deposited it on the floor not all put back together but as if each individual section was discarded separately after it had been read. Those in-flight magazines were scattered around as well, their readers apparently unable to slide them back into the pockets in front of them from where they came. There was food spilt on the floor and the seats, along with food wrappers and the plastic cups of a hundred different water requests, all of which somehow missed the post-meal pick-up and the last chance, pre-landing pick-up. There was paper thrown about, as if it had blown in with the wind. Row after row after row was coated with a jaw dropping amount of trash. "Do they treat their homes like this? I don't think so," a steward said to me.

Of course the steward was right. I have been in a number of homes in Jordan, and no, they do not treat them like a garbage dump. Hospitality is an important aspect of Jordanian culture, and a clean house is part of being a good host. Many do, however, treat the streets outside their homes like that. In fact, sometimes littering just seems to be a normal part of every day life. Kids and adults alike are always tossing what they don't need or want to use--be it pop cans, candy wrappers, styrofoam takeaway food containers or the ever popular plastic bags--on to the street. The garbage collectors in our neighborhood spend 10 to 12 hours each day just walking back and forth along the same small route, because once they've cleaned up an area, no doubt someone will have come by in the meantime and thrown to the street something they didn't want.

So it is this culture of littering that reared its head on board the plane with us, with every square inch of the plane taking the place of the streets of Amman and the airline stewards taking the place of our poor, overworked garbage collectors. The flight itself, as I said, was uneventful, which is good for a flight to be. But the site of our garbage plane, along with the brazen last minute bathroom user, made exiting the plane an event I'll not soon forget.