All Aboard

Good morning. This is flight 950 bound for Omaha.

We will begin boarding in the order of how I am judging you.

Children in Airplane Luggage Shelves

Storage requirements might have give you a clue about the service.

If you bought your last pantsuit in 1975 you will be among the first 16 passengers to board. I like women who wear whatever’s on top of the heap in their hampers. Your backless Keds tell me you have a delicious steaming meatloaf in your purse. Your bitten nails show me you’re nervous about your sump pump. I think I love you.

You there, with the knitting and spindly little bowlegs with saggy stockings you’re going aboard next. You stole my heart when you asked the kid at Burger King if the fish was fresh. I like that you just spent endless minutes counting out $16 in pennies and nickels for a pack of Parliaments. If it wouldn’t mess up your drug store lipstick I’d kiss you.

You, with the Peter Pan collar and a necklace you made yourself out of weed eater line and ping pong balls. The evangelical. Your cheap press-on nails, your dandruff-covered dress, your frosted hair and your Yankee Candle car air freshener. You tried to use coupons at the airport bar. Sit down. You’re going standby.

Ping Pong Necklace

On the other hand, they make excellent Xmas cactus decorations.

If you’re wearing cat eyes glasses and reading a thick book you will be in the third group. You’re 30, you don’t buy makeup, you don’t care about the color of your nails or the elasticity of your waistband. Your coffee is from McDonalds. You bought your ticket with your VISA the Girl Scouts sent you. I love that you don’t text. I’m going to serve you a nice cold glass of San Pellegrino Limonata, not water from a hose at the Buffalo airport.

Where are my alcoholics? You, with the Burberry coat. You had a snootful before you left for the airport didn’t you? And you, chewing on donut holes. You were so drunk in the Portage Club you threw up on your Louis Vuitton suitcase. Overserved you say? Sit down. This flight is oversold.

drunk airplane passenger

We remember last time you flew with us.

All right, you with the fat briefcase and the handbag that looks like a canteen. You’re a lawyer. Not a window dressing lawyer wearing a $2,000 dress and Manolos. A real lawyer who wears her husband’s black socks with pants she made herself. You’re the kind of lawyer who spends days taking boring depositions from people who lie to you, but you put your head down and plod ahead because your clients need you. You always fly coach. Honey, I’m upgrading you to first class and you’re getting a rare steak and a whiskey neat.

Bill Anderson is a recluse who emerges from his house once a week to talk with anybody who will listen to him.

©2016, all rights reserved
published with the permission of the author