It’s fitting that the final installment of Jennifer Lawrence’s dystopian blockbuster, The Hunger Games, is released today—and not solely for the slew of dinner-related gags it affords Phil Dunphy–like dads across the country. Traveling on Thanksgiving is the closest most ordinary folk will ever come to competing in a fight to the death. In this case, though, we’re not battling for survival—just a better seat and space for that rollaboard in the overhead locker.
There are easy airside parallels to the world of Katniss and co., albeit with less tribute and more tribulation. Sadly, of course, security will be tighter than ever—omnipresent in that Panem-like way. Every time delays and problems flare up, they’re our own personal detour into District 13, that uninhabitable no-go area synonymous with desolation. I’ve seen plenty of cabin crew with the hammy panache and buoyant optimism of Caesar Flickerman and Effie Trinket, albeit with slightly less bouffant.
There are archetypes among passengers that map directly onto the fictional roster of Hunger Games competitors. A friend once told me how she primed her elderly yet strapping mother to feign frailty like Mags Flanagan as soon as they arrived at the gate; the ruse, she confided, allowed both to always be whisked onboard before anyone else. Likewise, I admire every mom struggling solo to juggle luggage and children who’s smart enough to channel Johanna Mason’s deliberate helplessness, and so snare maximum aid.
Brittle and brutalized Haymitch is echoed by that frequent flier trudging on to yet another plane, despite this being his day off and having spent much of the previous month fighting jet lag; broken but defiant, he’s the first to call for a double whisky. Beloved 12-year old Rue, sent defenseless into the arena, is the child traveling solo escorted carefully to her seat by a uniformed staffer whom everyone eyes protectively.
We’ve all sat next to someone who mutters disconcertingly like poor, PTSD-hobbled Wiress—though I suspect many of those folks are simply keen to avoid conversation. There’s ample Beetee in the callow man whose first instinct after sitting down is to dig into his huge backpack before retrieving endless cords and devices; on a two-hour flight, he’s brought enough entertainment for a round-the-world trip.
Finnick Odair is the flirty charmer who wangles an upgrade from the cabin crew, whisked ahead of the curtain with a few whispered words and a sparkly-toothed smile. We’ve all seen the woman who strides down the aisle, toting countless bags in an inexplicable flouting of carry-on regulations; she’s like any Career Tribute who breaches the rules so she can bring all her favorite weapons.
Frankly, though, most of us won’t reach the high-flying nobility of Katniss Everdeen during these travel travails—we're more likely to channel our inner Liz Lemon, stuck on a plane that’s a cross between a tenement slum and a totalitarian state (see how her pilot boyfriend, offended by one passenger’s outfit, turns to Sky Law, telling the flight attendant to “21-18 that guy”—or forcibly make him check his carry-on).
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Two strategies always quell my anxiety when flightside snafus like these occur. Firstly, focus on bypassing the chaos at the airport itself when a flight is canceled or delayed. Sure, join that line to talk with the poor, harried agent who knows little more than you do but simultaneously, call the airline’s customer service center as you wait. It’s likely less deluged, has greater detail on alternative options, and will address your problem quicker.
Secondly, remember you don’t have to fight your way out of the situation, Katniss-style. If your flight is canceled for reasons other than weather—mechanical problems, perhaps, or crew delay—you’re entitled to a flight or ground transportation to your destination, though at your original carrier's discretion. During Thanksgiving, of course, seats everywhere will be tight, but a FIM amplifies your alternatives if the next flight you’re offered is on Black Friday.
In fact, fraught as a trip before Thanksgiving might seem, parallels with The Hunger Games pale in comparison with the discount-driven frenzy of the next day at the mall. In one year alone, there was pepper spraying, Tasering, and shooting of customers—none of it by the police. In my personal Panem, I rate my chances of surviving the stress of an airport on Wednesday far higher than a morning at the mall two days later.
The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 2 opens November 20 in theaters nationwide. This article has been corrected to reflect the latest in airline cancellation rules.