Air Efx
Of course Robin Whetstone ended up on a jet with Das Efx
Robin Whetstone, the Pride of Athens, once had a surprising plane ride from Athens to Jacksonville with Das Efx, the seminal hip hop troupe. She was the only passenger on the plane who wasn’t part of the band, but by the time they landed, she had an entourage.
by Robin Whetstone
Since my first kid was born 14 years ago, it's been my habit to go home frequently, so my parents can see the kids and I can see them. When Sadie was a tiny baby, the 7-hour drive from Athens to Jacksonville was a huge ordeal, because, unlike my other two kids, when Sadie was a baby she was a bad traveler. She would sit in the carseat, in the back where I couldn't reach her, and scream for the entire seven hours. It was no fun for either of us.
Before one visit, my stepfather Maynard generously offered to pay for me to fly from Atlanta to Jacksonville so we wouldn't have to deal with seven hours of screaming. I agreed, went to the airport, and boarded the plane that I would take to Jax. This plane was TINY, I'm telling you; like, single prop, 16 seats, one scared-looking attendant. There was no separation of the cockpit from the rest of the plane - we could see the pilots in their sweat-stained shirts with their Styrofoam cups of coffee. I was not scared of the plane because I have been on many tiny planes before, including one that nearly crashed. I was, however, a little concerned about the people on the plane with me.
There were 14 other people on the plane besides me, and they were all GIGANTIC men. Some of them were tall, some of them were short, but all of them weighed about 270 pounds, either in muscle or fat. They were huge, and they all were wearing enormous, puffy jackets that doubled their already very large size. They all also had tons of hair – cornrows, dreadlocks, afros, extensions, whatever – and were wearing big, ropy gold chains with swinging medallions on them, sparkly diamond rings that took up their whole knuckle space and spelled out someone’s name, and shiny metal grills over their teeth. They all definitely knew each other and liked each other; when I walked up the stairs to the plane with my baby, they were hanging over the backs of the seats chatting, or squeezed into the aisles together, slapping each other on their backs and laughing loudly. They all stopped briefly and stared at me, a white lady with a baby, when I got on the plane, and then went back to the festivities. Nobody was being rude or inappropriate – I wasn’t worried about that – I was just worried about spending 90 minutes stuffed in this metal tube with 14 giant, loud men who all knew each other. This was going to be as noisy and exhausting as a 7-hour car ride with a screaming infant, probably.
I squeezed into an aisle seat next to a friendly looking guy in a puffy blue hoodie. He nodded and said hello, and I did the same. Sadie fell asleep as we taxied down the runway, and the guys on the plane all quieted down. You could feel the tension in the air as the plane rattled and swayed as it lifted off the ground. The guy next to me stared out the window, clenching and unclenching his hands. As soon as we reached altitude, which was below the clouds because of the size of the plane, it was clear that this was going to be a terrible, scary plane ride. We were flying through a big storm, and the turbulence was intense. The small plane bucked and dipped and shook and trembled. There were odd and alarming squeaks and straining sounds as what felt like a giant hand pushed the plane from side to side. Everyone on board was buckled in, hands clenching the armrests, totally silent.
After about 20 minutes of this, the guy sitting next to me began to mutter “This ain’t right,” over and over again. “This ain’t right, this ain’t right, THIS AIN’T RIGHT,” he finally yelled.
I looked at him. “Are you scared?” I was.
“Heck yes, I’m scared,” he said. “This ain’t right!”
I told him that I was scared, too, and my name. He held out a sweaty hand. “Scoob,” he said.
I looked at him. “Are you scared?” I was.
Scoob and I chatted to try to distract ourselves from our impending deaths. We talked about where we were going, where we had been, how was the baby, our various families, etc. Finally, I said, “What are you guys?” I gestured to the other men, who were turning to look at us. “You all know each other?”
Scoob leaned forward and dug through a messenger bag he had under the seat in front of him. He pulled out a T-shirt and a card the size of an album, and set them in my lap. “These are for you,” he said.
“Das Efx?” I said. “You are a hip-hop band?” He confirmed that they were indeed hip-hoppers, on the way to play a show in Jacksonville. After a while, the turbulence subsided and we all began to chat, mainly about what they could expect if we ever made it to Jacksonville. They were extremely nice, friendly, and polite, and showed a lot of concern for Sadie, who was still asleep. They seemed like totally normal, albeit harry, puffy, and sparkly, guys. They told me that if I wanted to attend their show that night, they’d put me on the list as their guest, and that I could bring Sadie, too.
The best part was when the plane landed in Jacksonville. Instead of landing at the main airport, we landed at a little side building, I guess because the plane was so small. I could see my mother and my step-father standing on the tarmac outside, waiting for me. I said, “My parents are going to be surprised when I debark with Das Efx.” Scoob laughed and said “We’ll be your entourage.” And they were. The waited for Sadie and me to get off the plane and then we all walked toward my parents together, in a big group with Sadie and me in the middle. I had told them about my parents, and when we got up to them, Scoob stuck out his hand and said, “You must be Maynard.” We all hugged and said goodbye as my parents stared at us in shock. We watched the band walk away, and Scoob turned around and hollered, “Don’t forget you’re on the list! See you tonight!” I acted nonchalant, like, “Of course I just flew to Jacksonville on a small plane with Das Efx.” It was hilarious.
Best plane ride ever, 10/10 would fly again.
Robin Whetstone is a Georgia-based writer who previously serialized her memoir about living in Moscow in the early ‘90s. As we’ve seen from her earlier contributions to The Experiment, she has a remarkable comic voice, but what makes her memoir unique how it retains that voice while describing the peril she finds herself in. You can find the first chapter here.
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