The Price of Refusing Pringles on a Plane

And the awkward beauty of being human

People find meaning and redemption in the most unusual human connections.

— Khaled Hosseini

I immediately doubted my interpretation of the universal gesture for “offering.” The woman next to me on the plane was shaking her Pringles at me. I shook my head, “no,” with a smile. “No, thank you,” I said. It was early in the morning and I’m not saying I’m above Pringles, but I have to be at least a little desperate to eat them. She raised her thick, painted-on eyebrows and shook them again, this time pushing them closer to my face. I looked to my side, thinking maybe she was asking me to pass them to someone across the aisle. There was no one. She wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

I considered it again, but I remembered she had been feeding them to her coughing child and I really didn’t want to get sick. I repeated, “No, thank you” as firmly as possible. She replied, “No speak English” and shook them again. I can remember so vividly her light pink lipstick drawn far above her lip line. Her hijab was pulled snug around her face. My smiling eyes turned to an awkward sadness. She looked away, seemingly upset, as she pulled away the Pringles with resignation. I had disappointed her, sure, but I felt as if I had done something really wrong, something irredeemable. A social foul. A cultural faux pas. But, really, I just didn’t want to eat Pringles. 

After take-off, the hunger hit. I hadn’t eaten anything yet. I hesitated thinking she would realize I had hunger, and could have taken her chips. I decided to just commit instead of trying to be discrete. I felt the pain of this woman thinking I thought I was too good for her food as I chewed my vegan protein bar. It felt like it took ages to dissolve in my mouth.

I turned on some television to distract myself from the tension. I chose Billions. It was all fine until the naked bodies of lesbians mid-love-making appeared on the screen. I skipped it forward. The character had put on a shirt and was on the phone. Nope! The character’s lover was enticing her back to bed. I fast-forwarded again. Office building. I was safe. Think again. The drugs, straight up the nose. I turned it off. Too stressful. Thankfully, the woman next to me fell asleep and I watched a documentary about a mountain climber. 

The announcement came on that we were approaching our descent. I dried my eyes (the documentary was a tearjerker) and packed up my things. I glanced over and noticed the Pringles container was empty. I felt a sigh of relief. And almost in that exact moment, the woman pulled out a packet of Starburst and, without so much as glancing in my direction, she held the opened package over my lap. Without a second to think, I took one. Did I want a Starburst? Not really. But the promise of redemption was far stronger than any dietary desire or lack thereof. I tried to communicate my gratitude and smile through the words “thank you” because she still didn’t look at me. But I was satisfied that perhaps we’d reached an understanding. 

I left the flight feeling resolved and not at the same time. Communication is such an important tool and when our typical vehicles of expression are limited, how do we share our true intentions? Perhaps our true intentions are never understood. Perhaps they are and people just don’t care as much as we’d like them to. Perhaps none of it matters because we never know how other people feel, nor are we responsible for catering to what we think they do, or should. This experience is a microcosm for me — maybe relatable, maybe not —  of what I struggle with on a daily basis. The feeling of being misunderstood, of people assuming I’m something I’m not. My hyper-vigilance was undoubtedly learned early, but it’s been exacerbated by being thrust into the spotlight for appearing as someone I am not: a public hallucination that provokes fear, repulsion, and even hate.  

I have become both numb and intensely sensitive to the reactions of others. I empathize more deeply with those who have experienced prejudice, sometimes naked and violent hate, for merely existing. Maybe I assumed the woman with the hijab had experienced such prejudice, which may not be true, but if it was, I wanted her to know I wasn’t one of “them.” I recognize the arrogance of my assumption that anything I did was of significance to this stranger, but it was significant to me. Jung said, “We don't see the world as it is, we see it as we are.” I suppose I have a longing for the world to receive what I believe I have to offer. I fear being rejected and misunderstood. By contemplating even the most benign interactions, I find a window into these wounds that make us human. By looking into this window, we can cultivate a better world, first within ourselves, and then without. And when we are offered a wink from the universe, we can enjoy its fruity sweetness.