Rules

The developing world doesn't do rules. Anyone who has ever driven in South Asia can tell you that. There are historic places in the developing world that you can climb on, eat on, run on, and jump off. Hell, in some of the ancient amphitheaters, you can play soccer with your friends. Motorcyle helmets, when worn, are the equivalent of the batting helmets you get ice cream in at a ball park. Of course, motorcycles are also considered family sedans, so it is not uncommon to see families of 4 on a Honda.
This drives normal Americans crazy—no seat belts, no bike helmets, no car seats, no railings, no signs. I mean, how we can live without 'signs, signs, everywhere are signs?'
On a flight like this, where the majority aren't native Americans and have not been indoctrinated in the 'line up and shut up' culture, the differences are clear. The poor flight attendants are stressed, as the 'Fasten Your Seat Belt' sign has been on for 45 minutes. But my Ghanian peeps refuse to acknowledge it, so there are restroom lines 2-3 long, and everyone is looking for something critical in the overhead. Dammit people, someone is going to die!!!
While my instinct is to have my butt pucker over the chaos, there is a part of me that enjoys the freedom. I mean really, do we have to follow all the damn rules people can think of? We're in a metal tube 35,000 feet above the ocean—where are we going to go and what possible harm can we do? I am getting up to see if I have my book dangit.