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The
Ugliest American
By Wendy VanHatten
The Ugliest American went to Cancun. I should know.
She sat next to me…on a 3½ hour flight.
The day started out great. My husband and I were leaving
the cold of the Midwest and going to the sunshine and
warmth of Cancun, Mexico. The plane boarded on time.
Flight attendants politely asked people to sit down
and buckle up. Only one empty seat on the whole airplane
was next to me. One minute to backing away from the
gate. A plane full of vacationers-to-be came so close
to the perfect flight to paradise.
Not to be.
Bulldozing her way to our row she stomped over our feet.
Falling into her seat she snapped out an order for a
@#*@ drink and loudly proclaimed it's time to get this
@#*@ flight in the air. Our seat companion had arrived!
Immediately she earned an icy glare from the attendants
as they politely asked her to buckle her seat belt.
The required safety instructions were shown on the monitors
in both English and Spanish. After all Spanish IS spoken
in Mexico. However, Spanish did not meet with our seat
companion's approval. She voiced her displeasure at
having to listen to @#*@ Spanish. Loudly. Continually.
Five times in less than five minutes. I counted.
Requests for @#*@ drinks were first met with polite
explanations from the attendants. We weren't even in
the air. Then they tried ignoring her. Stares and glares
from other passengers only resulted in more editorial
comments on the @#*@ passengers on this @#*@ plane.
Fortunately, flight attendants and passengers soon realized
we were not "with" this person.
By now she was no longer "our seat companion".
Nor was she even "The Ugly American". She
vaulted right into "Ugliest American" status.
Clues were obvious:
Clue number one, her language needed some work. Actually
it needed a lot of work. I'm sure some passengers learned
new words on this flight.
Clue number two, she needed a volume control. Every
passenger heard every word out of her mouth. Headsets
were no match for her voice.
Clue number three, she was drunk. This was not an assumption.
She told me. After 2 bottles of champagne and 3 beers
in the airport she now wanted some @#*@ wine on this
@#*@ plane. My only hope was she would pass out. The
sooner the better. Not to be. If possible, she became
louder.
Clue number four, she was rude. No surprise there. She
critiqued every passenger within sight on their attire,
hairstyle, body shape, and overall appearance. Nothing
fazed her.
Clue number five, she didn't shut up. Graphically she
related her life's story, her marriage woes, her bar
ownership problems and dozens of details I blocked out.
I tried to be patient. I really did. If only for the
sake of my sanity.
After all, who wants to start their vacation upset over
a plane ride? As she started the second (or was it the
third?) round of stories, I knew it was more than I
could take. Interrupting her monologue I told her I
was tired and was going to sleep. Of course, I had to
yell at her. Promptly I squeezed my eyes shut and reclined
my seat. I don't know why I thought this would stop
her continuing saga. It didn't. She kept on going and
going and going. Only louder.
She ordered yet another mini bottle of wine and spilled
part of it on my tray table. Even though my eyes were
still tightly squeezed, she loudly apologized in my
ear for being a klutz and kept on talking. I did not
open my eyes nor respond the rest of the flight.
I imagined stuffing her in the overhead compartment.
I know there would have been plenty of volunteers to
help. I thought about going to the restroom…and
staying. Or maybe one of those little pillows would
fit in her mouth. At this point no idea was too bizarre.
Just when I thought about doing something really drastic,
she fell asleep.
A collective sigh settled over the plane.
Upon landing she awoke, complained about her head hurting
and said she needed a beer. She couldn't wait to get
through @#*@ customs so she could get to her hotel,
get drunk, and lay in the sun. Mentally I was congratulating
myself on ignoring her.
Getting rid of her would not come soon enough. My time
with the "Ugliest American" was about to end.
I could ungrit my teeth and relax. There are hundreds
of hotels and resorts in Cancun and she could hassle
some other poor vacationers. In a few hours she would
be nothing but a bad memory.
As the plane taxied to the gate she asked where we were
staying. Upon hearing the name of the resort she screamed
with pleasure. That was exactly where she was staying.
I thought about screaming, too. Did I mention there
are hundreds of hotels in Cancun? What are the odds?
The expression on my face must have registered with
her drink overloaded brain. Or maybe it was the way
my mouth was hanging open that caused her to apologize
profusely for monopolizing the conversation. She repeatedly
said we didn't have to speak to her if we saw her at
the resort! Little did she know I wasn't planning to.
During the week we saw her only three times. We acknowledged
her repeated cheerful loud hellos with a nod. From a
distance. The last time we saw her on the beach sporting
a total-body sunburn. Her scalp to her toes appeared
to need medical attention. I almost felt sorry for her.
She shouted a greeting to us as she fell into a beach
chair. We nodded and kept on walking. Time to find another
place to sit.
We have no idea what happened to her after that.
The "Ugliest American" was not going to ruin
our vacation. Life's too short and we were there for
a good time.
However, I have a request. Next time let somebody else
have her.
Wendy
VanHatten is a regular contributor and travel journalists
for several regional publications
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