Load plane. Take seat. Read in-flight magazine.
A few minutes into the flight, 5, 10, 15, 20 – Jim had no idea – one of the flight attendants – not the cute one or the gay guy, but the overweight obvious mother type – came down the aisle, stopping before every row and pressing down on the cart-brake with her white Asics sneakers (he looked). She was only three rows away, so like a conditioned lemming he unlocked his tray from its upright position and readied himself for his moment ; in the spotlight was coming.
What would they offer? Chicken definitely, but beef wellington as well perhaps? He doubted fish or pork – had he ever eaten one of those on a plane? No, no, that’s a silly though. Would she offer him a kosher meal? No, you had to request those before the flight, at least that’s what he had read somewhere before. Besides, he wasn’t like, Jewish or anything anyways.
Before he knew it she was upon him. He moistened his lips in preparation of speaking, but she addressed the other side of the row and then the Persian lady to his right first. Hmm…old person jealousy he thought, ignoring the fact that she had used the same procedure with every single row up to their 15. Persian lady was going with chicken. A safe, sensible and prudent choice he thought. He instantly warmed to her: safe, sensible, prudent – good attributes to have in a row-mate.
“And what about you fine sir? What will you be having?” Jim was astounded at the force of her smile. Her personality showed through it and for a second as the sun peered above the clouds her face was illuminated. Jim reacted with an inward gasp, a proclamation of the situational angel he was now faced with.
I’m sorry I prejudged you.
It’s OK, everyone does.
You are a nice lady
Thank you
“Well, what do you have m’lady?” he shot back with his most charming smile.
He felt he had gone too far. Her smile diminished, obvious patience slid out of her expression. She felt he was being “cute”, and not the good “cute” that worked so well at frat parties or at tehc ampus bar, the “cute” that aggravated those who had lived, those who were working, those whose loved revolved around the routine of life. Jim instantly wanted to apologize for the unintended charm.
“We have a chicken plate, a chicken salad sandwich plate and a beef plate.”
“Chicken salad please.”
She handed over the tray and without another word unclicked her brake and walked the cart to the next aisle before turning to the next passenger and turning on her beaming smile. “And what would you like fine sir?”
Jim could not hear the man’s response over the popping sound of the plastic cover of his chicken salad sandwich plate.
Try as he might to find fault with his meal, Jim had to admit it was delicious. The lettuce was crisp, the side vegetables were fresh, as was the fruit in the accompanying fruit cup: honeydew melon, cantaloupe, grapes, and even a few pieces of pineapple. The standing of the flight company increased immediately. Everything on most flights was usually pretty cut-and-paste, but a good chicken salad sandwich plate went a long way with him. I mean he had even been on flights where they didn’t even give you a meal. This blew his mind. They advertised themselves as a “no frills” company, but come on – it was like going to church and getting skimped out of communion. Sacrilege! They smugly walked around with their menus to buy chips or bars or a ham and swiss cheese on rye, but he had never had money handy and even if he had there was no way he would buy anything on principle alone. No, he would not take their Judas-cookies or chips. There are certain places a man must take a stand, even if they are sitting down.
Jim nodded to himself in resolution and wiped his hands with the accompanying wet-nap. Yup, these guys were fucking pros.
Mr. PimpleNeck really seemed to be enjoying his newspaper. He folded and crimpled it every few minutes like he was an origami master. If he had made a sailor’s hat of the classifieds, Jim would have instantly liked him. He doubted this little miracle would take place however.
Placing most of his upper weight on his left elbow, he leaned to better see what PimpleNeck was reading through the cracks between the chairs in front of him. The headline on page…page? Ah…page A5 read “Insurgents Strike Kabul Again; 5 Killed”. He deduced that this was the article Pimple Neck was reading, judging by the various disapproving mouth clicks and head shakes that emitted almost like clockwork every five or six seconds. Mark down PimpleNeck as a non-fan of insurgency and innocent deaths.
Without knowing why, this made Jim dislike him even more. Jim slouched back in his chair, his jaw slightly agape, cocked to one side. He licked the back of his teeth and pulling down on the left sleeve of his polo looked out the window again. Off in the distance he saw the glimmer of water – whether it was a lake or ocean he didn’t care.
