I got yelled at by a flight attendant.

I went to Florida after New Year's with my mother, and this story comes not from the resplendent views of the Atlantic Ocean, nor does it come from the inside of Spaceship Earth (that's the ride that's inside the globe at EPCOT). Nope, this story comes courtesy of Northwest Airlines, somewhere between Detroit and Duluth.

It had been a pretty long day up until that point. We took a bus with a bunch of families (read: gobs of tired kiddies) from the hotel to the airport, and then had a flight from Orlando to Detroit that was 2 1/2 hours, and then we had to sit in Detroit for four hours, waiting, waiting. The flight was delayed and I had been sick with a persistent cold all week, so I was pretty much ready to be in my own house, sleeping in my own bed at that point. All that stood before me was a one hour, twenty minute flight on one of those itty-bitty commuter planes that only has one potty and one flight attendant, an older, balding, beady-eyed man named Hugh (that'd be the flight attendant, not the crapper).

From the start I thought it was going to be a decent flight. The plane was only half full, so my mom and I had aisle seats across from each other and an empty seat next to us until Random Fella comes and sits next to me. I move, of course, after some witty repartee with him, to the set of empty seats in front of my mom. Golden.

After we took off, I was feeling a little queasy. I don't usually get sick from flying, but for some reason, my system wasn't feeling this ride. It wasn't turbulent, I just figured it was getting to be a long day. So when the plane started to even out, I needed to hit the bathroom, just to move around and blow off some steam (insert your own gastric disturbance here). On my way back to the seat, I see that Hugh, the Uber-Professional Flight Attendant, is handing out drinks. I land in my seat and as I am fumbling for my seat belt, out of nowhere appears the moon face of one Flight Attendant Hugh.

He peered at me through his coke bottle glasses. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I am going to have to ask you to remain seated with your seat belt fastened," he said, somewhat sternly, I might add.

I looked at him, holding the ends of the seat belt in my hands. "I... I had to go to the bathroom."

"Don't you know that you should never get on the plane having to go to the bathroom? Please stay seated. It's very turbulent."

What? It's not turbulent! It's turbulent in my stomach, but not on the friggin' plane. Okay, it's ON. "What am I, six?" I say. "I had to go to the bathroom, so I went!"

"Well, I'm going to have to go back there and lock that bathroom," he snapped. "I can't have people moving around the plane."

"Great!" I said. "On your way back there, why don't you yell at the guy who went in there after me while you're at it?"

"Maybe I will!" he retorted. (Oooohh, Hugh, good one.) Suddenly, he softens his tone. "Would you like something to drink?"

I admit that I am a bit taken aback. "Yes. Water."

"Ice?"

Ice? What's ice? I suddenly remember that I am mad at this man. "No, thank you," I say snootily.

He brought me the water, and I'm happy to say that there were no further incidents on the flight (unless, of course, he spit in my water, which would have brought our conflict to a breathtaking climax, but I didn't notice anything amiss). I might also add that my mom and the guy I was first sitting next to were both crying, they were laughing so hard at this exchange. Lesson learned? If I need to go to the bathroom, I am going to go, especially if there is a flight attendant named Hugh present.