A Brave Move at 35,000 feet
Okay, So I tested my ability to strike a conversation with complete stranger. On my return from a cross-country flight from Los Angeles, I made what I considered a brave move from 35,000 feet.
Let me preface by stating I hate flying. While years of studying physics, aerodynamics and technology for much too long, and I’ve fully understand the science behind flight, the caveman portion of my cerebellum cannot contain the thought of floating above the ground in a metal bird for 5.5 hours cross the continental USA. THANK GOD FOR NYQUILL - you beautiful coma-causing elixor.
Back to the story, while waking from a prolonged sleep aided by cough medicine and Tanqueray…I realized two important observations.
1. My travel agent sucks - Now if I purchase plane tickets three months in advance, explain how I am sitting in a aisle seat in row 24 (of a 30 row plane). You who fly regularly know what I went through during the cruising altitude portion of the flight. Tray Cart-meets-foot, Kid Hands - meets Face, and a plus-minus…crotch and ass-meets-face occurs throughout the flight.
2. Observation number two - Do thirty people on a plane have to go to the bathroom at the same time or is it just me. These two coach-class restrooms became the Ellis Island for sphincters yearning to be free for three freakin hours during this flight…Oh Hell Naw!!!
I became so awestruck by the need for folks to stand and wait in lines of 13-15 for these cabinets with a blue swirly dish…it was amazing. I could hardly sleep as I’m seeing these mini-huddled masses wait for the sheer pleasure of washing their disease-ridden hands with cold water and see the constant reminders not to smoke….anyway
There he was…about 5′11", sandy brown hair, swimmers build, piercing blue-green eyes walking to join this motley crew. He had that circular crease around his forehead that only meant a fitted baseball cap would greet him upon his departure from Dulles in what was now 2 and a half hours. Fingers…long, clean with a hint of color around the palm that indicates hard work and sport. I gave my usual nod and smile that means nothing…I can’t help but test another guys smile, and his response gave that same ‘what’s up?’ kind of nod.
Nothing…I think..or was there something…damn…the ‘dar is working on numb due to do my cough syrup high…or is it low..whatever. Slowly but surely he became another of this wacked out group to line up adjacent to me waiting for the next bathroom visit. Looking forward and sensing no factor of fabulousness, I returned to my book and the blaring Broadway tunes greeting me in my ear. When I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Excuse me" he mouthed figuring there was no way I could hear him above the shrieks of Idzina Mezell and Kristen Chenowith…."Are you listening to WICKED"
My eyebrows shot up wide as I gentle remove an earphone and asked him to repeat his query. Gay-dar rang supreme as he quickly identified the newest Broadway sensation and fascination by a new generation of Broadway queens. not to mention us being on a plane where blaring bawdy jet engines and blaring bawdy children eminate everywhere. His next question made me blush…yes I blush biotch…just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean I can’t do it, and no its not purple. Damn you queens!!!
Anyway… He asked with a lilt of laughter, "are you also reading WICKED." Blushingly I proclaimed ‘YES’. His next question surprised me as his voice went from a low baritone to a high tenor in a matter of seconds. "Okay…so how gay is that"…my response " Well there are gayer things that can happen on a plane but the law forbids more than one person in an bathroom"
I swear the poor military guy next to me choked on his cup of crushed ice. Poor Jim-Bob or Bobby-Lou or whoever the poor schmuck sitting to my left was poorly named. While I’m sure he’s vowed never to watch anything on BRAVO, A&E or that blasphemous NBC, he had no idea he was going to experience two men chatting it up like two ass-sore queens at a Sunday Brunch. I love a full flight.
For the next forty-five minutes, we’re chatting it up while he’s sitting at the aisle of the Boeing-737. I’m joking about the walk to the restroom [his slow mission is to remove his contact lenses, which he makes aware by constantly blinking] - DId I mention his eyes, yes girls they’re real. Thank God for the Velvet Mafia patroling the flight for letting Jack (Great name, Right?) sit on the floor while chatting with me about my adventures in Cali the previous few days, his family, and what the hell he was doing in D.C.
Fast forward to the landing…I’m collecting my great many items to get off this damn bird, figuring I’d only be resolved to more quick glances at baggage claim before we part our separate ways, when I’m greeted upon my entrance to the gate. Jack’s waiting in a light suede jacket - perfect for the mild DC winter temps. "You didn’t think you were rid of me that quickly did you." I nervously smiled as we chatted our way to those Gallactic monstrocities that only Dulles is known for. That’s when I grew a set and asked "So do you need a ride to your hotel"
Yada Yada Yada…Marriott Burgers Rule!!!
Till next time.
Pulled
