cNutgroist

What I did on my Holidays: Part 3

Waiting patiently in a squished-up queue for an alleged bagel at the gate in O’Hare, I was blatantly queue-jumped by the woman behind me, an air hostess who immediately apologised when she realised – I mocked sheer disgust just because I could and she parried back with equal mock horror and shame. So as we pretended to chat I was my usual sickeningly charming self, throwing out more dangerous topics of conversation just to see how unserious she took things. Tall, thin and very pretty for her age, she must’ve been a stunner 25 years ago when the profession itself was still just about holding onto its glamourous past.

When we realised we were on the same flight together, I wondered if I should have been quite so risky in the stuff I said. I like to push the envelope with strangers, but always to give them a laugh they don’t expect. Never to offend or attract and usually not if I think I might actually see them again. So I stepped aboard hoping for a calm, hassle-free flight where I could keep my head down and not have to do the polite smiling thing every time she walked up and down the aisle – until we reach the uncomfortable point where I don’t. Followed by an embarrassed stepping off of the plane where you say ‘goodbye’ and mean ‘I’m sorry I ignored you but I am overly bound up in the stresses of polite behaviour within the confined space of this plane and of modern Western society’. And she will say ‘goodbye’ and mean ‘I know, you fucker. But it’s ok, I’ve had thousands of confused young men pass through this pressurized cabin and a respectable proportion of them pass through my own pressurized cabin and your inability to deal with such a simple situation due to a misunderstanding of the implied rules of the game is nothing new to me, you fucker. Have a nice day’.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, as I often do (I can also get head from myself, which I almost never do). Let it be said that I’ve never flown first class and unless I marry a rich man I probably never will but I got just a taste on my trip from Chicago to Seattle. Sat next to two very talkative guys in coach and with the seatbelt sign barely off, she appeared from nowhere and leaned in over my neighbours to ask ‘are they bothering you? I’ll see if I can have them moved if they are’. I almost shat myself with laughter and embarrassment – the guys were too stunned to say anything, probably both thinking they’d misheard. She then smilingly explained to them that I was getting special treatment on this flight. I literally gulped. They laughed. She moved off to deal with other, less important passengers.

5 minutes later, on a supposedly sold-out flight, she returned to tell me she’d found me ‘a better seat’. I very sheepishly gathered my stuff up, shrugged to my neighbours and left. Walking the full length of the cabin until I just before reached first class, there were two empty seats at the very front where I was sat down, handed a pack of peanuts and a drink and left to deal with feeling of 80 pairs of envious eyes on the back of my head. But it was worth it, for damn sure. I get restless if I’m in a confined space, so I stretched my legs out to the fullest extent since there was nothing but empty space in front of me. It’s why I don’t live in a priest-hole (though I’ve met a few unfortunate Irish lads who…um...never mind).

The most embarrassing moment of all was when she came and offered me and only me a cookie. I felt like a kid who’s travelling alone for the first time and whose parents have asked for him to be looked after. I swear she turned and swished with tangible umbrage simply because I declined the gesture. Of course, maybe I shouldn’t have turned it down like this:

“no, thanks, I’m ok…..Mum”

Oh god, I’ve just reminded a lady of a certain age of her certain age. The envelope had been pushed too far. It’s been turned into a jiffy bag filled with burning dog shit, marked ‘return to sender’

And the stupid thing is, I wanted a cookie. It’s just that I sometimes struggle against the key lesson my mother brought me up with, which is: Always, but always do look a gift horse in the mouth.

Eventually we got chatting again and when I asked for her name and how to spell it, in that faintly understood way that maybe I’d be sending a letter of praise to her employer (which I have), any perceived slight was forgotten. She absolutely made that flight for me. It’s rare that anyone cares that much about what they do anymore. Of course she was just having a laugh in a job she’s done a million times before, trying to keep it interesting. I was reluctant but ultimately happy to oblige. I’d blog her name and the airline I flew but for the fact that they’re probably crazy enough to discipline her for that free cup of peanuts.

When it was time to disembark (or de-plane, as they say here, leaving themselves open to justified ridicule), I had to wait until every other passenger had left before I could nip to the back of the plane to get my luggage. As I grabbed my stuff, over the intercom a voice came through ‘Come on Nutgroist, will you get off the goddamn plane please, we’ve been waiting 10 minutes to close up here. Do you love it so much you really want to stay on? Did I look after you too good?’ And she’s standing at the exit talking down the intercom phone next to the other stewards and both pilots, all arms folded and looking straight at me. So I deplaned pretty quick, saying a hurried ‘goodbye’ and meaning, of course, ’goodbye’.

Today's Keith Jarrett encore is from Paris in 1989. Blues. And it is.

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