For the frustrated English and Grammar teachers and those anonymous purveyors who spew nothing but bile, move on! There is nothing here for you!
It was the late 1980's. I was a regional sales manager for construction products company. It was 10:30 pm on the West Coast. I was sitting under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights in the San Jose airport waiting for my red eye to Chicago's O'Hare. Janitorial crews plied their cleanup routine in a desultory manner among the few drowsy passengers.
San Jose was a smallish airport at the time. You could park less than 100 yards from the ticketing counter. Outside airport security, such that it was, was primarily concerned with traffic control. 9/11, with its frenetic ramp up of airport security and the resultant suspicious glare at anything out of the ordinary, was not even a bad dream. It was unthinkable.
I arrived with about 30 minutes to flight time. I was coming off an evening of dinner, drinks and wine with a customer. I was jetting across country to a morning meeting in Chicago. I killed time waiting for the flight to be called by topping off the buzz I had from dinner with a few drinks while indulging the hobby of many frequent flyers: people watching.
It was the usual milieu of disparate flyers; Maybe 25 or 30 total for our last out flight. There were hippie types with the long hair and back packs. There was a young family with a fretful baby in mom's arms while dad struggled with the luggage. I spied a few suits. They were the ambitious youngsters trying to impress the higher ups by jetting frantically across the country to show movement, interest and, hopefully, leading to profit for the company and promotion for the ambitious corporate climber. I resembled that description!
I noticed a 50ish blue haired grandmother type. There was nothing really special about her. She was a little chunky at about 5' 3" or so, maybe 150 lbs. She was at that age where her breasts, even with a bra, seemed to rest comfortably just above her belly. She was not your instant dick hardening female, especially for a 30ish corporate animal like I was at the time.
In retrospect, what grabbed my attention was her obvious nervousness. Her eyes were as large as dinner plates. She continually dug in her oversized purse for Kleenex which she nervously twisted in her trembling hands. Eventually she would rise, walk to the waste receptacle and discard the shredded tissue. Then she would return to her airport style plastic chair and repeat the compulsive process.
My experienced frequent flyers eye identified her as a white knuckle flier.
I checked in with the overly perky clerk at the podium. Her bright chatter seemed obscene at this ungodly hour. But true to her training, she greeted each passenger brightly, took their ticket and assigned their seat. I presented my ticket to this bleached blond representative of the airline. She identified me as a frequent flyer, confirmed that my request for a specific row was honored. She then assured me that after families with small children, I would be an early board. Looking around at my small gaggle of fellow fliers, I knew this was a dubious but still welcomed perk.
Before I could sit down, Miss Overly Perky called my flight. I grabbed my two-suiter and briefcase and made my way to the entrance to the jet way. Just in front of me was my family with the fretful baby. I offered a silent prayer to the airline gods to seat them as far from me as possible. I like kids but I didn't want to be seated close to a baby that might wail for the four hour flight.
The Boeing 727 was the workhorse of the airlines at that time. It was virtually impossible to move around the country without being on a 727 at some point. The aircraft had a feature that made it the darling of the frequent flyer. The row adjacent to the emergency exit had mega leg room because there were no rows of seats in front of the emergency exit! A long legged fellow like me could stretch out.
I stowed my items in the overhead, buckled up and prepared for takeoff. After takeoff the flight attendants made the usual announcement for a late night flight. After the initial beverage service, the lights would be dimmed for the remainder of the flight. I ordered a brandy and flirted a little with the good looking attendant. She good naturedly accepted my flirtation and casually worked into the conversation her husband and two kids. I watched ruefully as her shapely hips swayed seductively as she moved down the aisle doing the beverage service. The mid-thigh skirt showed off well-toned legs that seemed to go on forever! I got a plastic smile as she returned to the rear of the plane and dimmed the lights.
I finished my drink and grabbed a (free!!) blanket from the overhead. The plan was to sleep across country.
As I settled in I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. A contralto voice asked my pardon. I opened my eyes and looked up at my blue haired grandmother. She was accompanied by my leggy flight attendant. Even though the flight was less the half full, would I mind sharing my row? The lady had arthritic knees and the extra leg room would ease her discomfort.
I scooted to the widow seat. My new found seatmate took the aisle. The attendant offered and she accepted a blanket from the overhead. I settled back down and began to doze off. Suddenly the plane lurched and shook like a wet dog shaking off water. The seat belt light popped on and the captain announced we had hit some chop. To an old hand like me it meant that we were nearing the Great Plains states, probably nearing the western border of Nebraska. To my seatmate it signaled impending disaster.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and a quiet whimper. I raised my head to see my blue haired grandmother type had a death grip on the armrest.
I sighed and set up in my seat. She jumped as I reached over and covered her hand with mine. I began reciting the veteran flier's mantra to the newbie: Flying was safer than driving; less people are killed in air disasters worldwide than in one year of traffic accidents in the States, etc., etc., blah, blah.
She would have none of it! She knew she was about to die. It was time to make peace with her maker and accept her fate.
I suggested a drink. She nodded her head nervously. I made my way back to the galley. My long legged attendant sympathized and added a few extra bottles to my order of four brandies, coke and cups of ice.
When I returned to my seat, she had moved to the center seat. My seatmate downed two airline bottles of brandy quickly and in an impressive fashion. I poured the third bottle over the ice. She stopped me before I added the coke. She knocked down half the glass, stopped for a breath and then drained the glass. I was impressed and silently held up the fourth bottle.
