After a long sleep, I'm back to work in Big Spring.
There were a few notable events on the return trip. The first flight featured a crew of two physically beautiful female flight attendants in the main cabin. One didn't smile at all, and the other smiled a lot, though not really at anyone It was as though she were smiling for a camera or acting in a stage production. The smiling one called all the women "babe" and didn't acknowledge me at all. The unsmiling one hit my sleeping kneecap squarely, twice, with the beverage cart and she didn't acknowledge me either.
In Dallas-Fort Worth, I squandered a couple of hours in a small roped-off bar. The bartender was a small person with a big voice. Her name is Edna. Edna asked me to pay for my beer as soon as it landed. She went on to tell me a story, at the top of her voice, about how many people don't pay for their drinks in airports. The difference comes out of her pocket at the end of her shift. On Christmas Eve, she had to make up $43. This hurts when you're making less than three dollars an hour. She told me she tracked one woman down, followed her on to her flight mad as hell, told the flight crew she wasn't getting off until the woman paid. The flight crew backed her up, gave the woman the option to pay or leave the plane with the police. She paid.
One of Edna's customers finished his beer and headed out. He passed behind me and half-whispered "She's louder than my dad, and he's 80 and stone deaf". She saw him, didn't hear what he said, but she looked down anyway, apparently stung, knowing it had been about her.
I told Edna I'd be her undercover back-up and started scanning the remaining customers. She made a guy leave $20 on the bar when he went to the bathroom. I assured him she'd tackle him if he got any ideas about not leaving it.
A young woman walked up to my side of the bar. Attractive, fit - she had the choice of two stools, one beside the good looking younger man who had since returned from the bathroom to find his $20 still on the bar, or the one beside me. She chose the one beside me. A voice told me it's because I looked like the safer option. Harmless. I sunk a little.
She's spent Christmas in Dallas with her brother and his kids and was on her way home back to Kansas. She'd studied dance and then taught it to little girls. I liked that. Then she got an offer to come out to California to work for the Hyatt hotel chain. A series of promotions took her from Palm Springs to Miami to San Antonio. Last year she decided she was going to take what she'd learned and do her own thing. She bought a bar in her Kansas hometown, in a historic building, and learned a lot about carpentry in the process. It's running pretty well now, they're getting ready to expand by adding a restaurant. Their peak time is during the pheasant season. Kaycee is her name. She's 29. I told her I hope she'd find time to teach little girls to dance again, and bid her good luck. We shook hands, and I felt a small ache as I walked away to my gate.
On the next leg of the trip, I was upgraded to first class. It was only a one hour flight, but they still managed to get three drinks and two snacks into me. I felt self-conscious drinking and eating while the ones looking at the back of my head with envy and hatred went without. The flight attendant was a tall, hilarious, twenty year old. Smart, quick, very funny and courageous - I recommended she give stand up comedy a try. That was a short flight, and I was almost sorry to leave.
I found my way to the rental car, drove East through the oil fields and the smell of burning natural gas, stopped for dinner at the Texas Cajun, checked in with one of the waitresses whose Dad had a stroke a couple of weeks ago, joked a little with two of the others, and headed off to bed alone. Which seemed appropriate.
There were a few notable events on the return trip. The first flight featured a crew of two physically beautiful female flight attendants in the main cabin. One didn't smile at all, and the other smiled a lot, though not really at anyone It was as though she were smiling for a camera or acting in a stage production. The smiling one called all the women "babe" and didn't acknowledge me at all. The unsmiling one hit my sleeping kneecap squarely, twice, with the beverage cart and she didn't acknowledge me either.
In Dallas-Fort Worth, I squandered a couple of hours in a small roped-off bar. The bartender was a small person with a big voice. Her name is Edna. Edna asked me to pay for my beer as soon as it landed. She went on to tell me a story, at the top of her voice, about how many people don't pay for their drinks in airports. The difference comes out of her pocket at the end of her shift. On Christmas Eve, she had to make up $43. This hurts when you're making less than three dollars an hour. She told me she tracked one woman down, followed her on to her flight mad as hell, told the flight crew she wasn't getting off until the woman paid. The flight crew backed her up, gave the woman the option to pay or leave the plane with the police. She paid.
One of Edna's customers finished his beer and headed out. He passed behind me and half-whispered "She's louder than my dad, and he's 80 and stone deaf". She saw him, didn't hear what he said, but she looked down anyway, apparently stung, knowing it had been about her.
I told Edna I'd be her undercover back-up and started scanning the remaining customers. She made a guy leave $20 on the bar when he went to the bathroom. I assured him she'd tackle him if he got any ideas about not leaving it.
A young woman walked up to my side of the bar. Attractive, fit - she had the choice of two stools, one beside the good looking younger man who had since returned from the bathroom to find his $20 still on the bar, or the one beside me. She chose the one beside me. A voice told me it's because I looked like the safer option. Harmless. I sunk a little.
She's spent Christmas in Dallas with her brother and his kids and was on her way home back to Kansas. She'd studied dance and then taught it to little girls. I liked that. Then she got an offer to come out to California to work for the Hyatt hotel chain. A series of promotions took her from Palm Springs to Miami to San Antonio. Last year she decided she was going to take what she'd learned and do her own thing. She bought a bar in her Kansas hometown, in a historic building, and learned a lot about carpentry in the process. It's running pretty well now, they're getting ready to expand by adding a restaurant. Their peak time is during the pheasant season. Kaycee is her name. She's 29. I told her I hope she'd find time to teach little girls to dance again, and bid her good luck. We shook hands, and I felt a small ache as I walked away to my gate.
On the next leg of the trip, I was upgraded to first class. It was only a one hour flight, but they still managed to get three drinks and two snacks into me. I felt self-conscious drinking and eating while the ones looking at the back of my head with envy and hatred went without. The flight attendant was a tall, hilarious, twenty year old. Smart, quick, very funny and courageous - I recommended she give stand up comedy a try. That was a short flight, and I was almost sorry to leave.
I found my way to the rental car, drove East through the oil fields and the smell of burning natural gas, stopped for dinner at the Texas Cajun, checked in with one of the waitresses whose Dad had a stroke a couple of weeks ago, joked a little with two of the others, and headed off to bed alone. Which seemed appropriate.
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