Of Apple Juice and Airplanes

I’m somewhere over Illinois or Missouri and I’ve just finished my meager serving of apple juice. I say meager because it seems that ATA Airlines is a lot more stingy with its drink portions than the other air carriers. On American I get an entire can of apple juice for my snack. ATA can only bring itself to begrudge me one small airline-size plastic cup’s worth.

But the small serving is acceptable. What matters is that I have my apple juice on the airplane. It’s a personal tradition that has almost become an imperative. When I fly, I drink apple juice. One day I’m going to ask the attendant the usual “Can I have apple juice please?” and be told that there isn’t any. I don’t know what I’ll do.

I expect it stems from flying to and from Colombia as a child. Overseas it wasn’t easy, or cheap, to get apple juice, so we didn’t have it very often. Thus, when we boarded the plane to return to the U.S. my brother and I would, of course, ask for apple juice. Similarly, when returning to Colombia, we had to drink apple juice because we wouldn’t get it again for a while.

You could say it was a form of personal path dependency. The specific geographical location of my childhood forced a choice upon me. Whatever the cause, I’m content now because I have had my apple juice. And it makes me happy enough to tolerate the toy airplane noises emanating from the seat behind me.