The Glamorous Flight
I sat safely on the ground after an incredibly smooth, cool and on time flight. Since the thermometer heated to over one hundred seven degrees an upbeat flight attendant (yes, on Southwest) politely requested that any passenger seated next to a window help keep the 737 comfortable for the passengers going on to Houston. I sat in a middle seat.
My conscientious neighbor quickly reached across his body and gave the shade a hearty tug. The contoured handle didn’t budge. He unfastened his belt, twisted in his seat and grabbed the edges with both hands. No luck. The blind hung at half mast.
He gave me a “are you going to just sit there” kind of look and despite my better judgement, I leaned over and pushed the thin liner against the window. Before I knew what happened, the muscular twenty-something man hit the shade with the butt of his palm and jammed it up in the recess. The plastic blind disappeared above the oval opening.
His eyes bulged and he reached for the flight attendant call button. But before he touched the panic switch, I intercepted his forearm and swatted his hand away.
I edged over the arm rest, well into his personal space and whispered, “Can you say flight delay?”
He stared straight ahead. After a minute passed, the corner of his mouth split. His eyes stayed focused forward and he slid on his sunglasses. He mumbled. “I don’t know you.” He ducked under his hoodie. “We never met.”
*Note to self: when possible, resist the urge to use a bigger stick
*Ancient mechanic saying: never let a pilot do maintenance (or for that matter, give them a tool on a airplane)
E.L. Chappel author of Risk
Not remotely qualified in airplane maintenance
aka The Glamorous Wife