On a flight this morning I heard an interesting story.
Consider this little piece of non-fictional fiction a disposable one where the names don't matter and I do not know them. The setting is an American Airlines flight that as per the American Airline standard is far outdated, worn and torn but somehow remains operational through a deft combination of technical expertise, magical elves and hope. These planes fly on computers with the processing power of your average laptop computer. The physics of flight are somewhat misunderstood by the foremost experts in the field. Process the following thought: a landing is nothing more than a controlled crash - the crash acts as the braking power. Fun!
Squished between the aisle and a lovely matronly woman I began to regret the idea of flying as a general concept. It was too hot for my sweatshirt but too cold to turn on the recycled air vent above me. I was trying to decide between the two high-quality reads provided by the airline - Sky Mall or Fly with Us! - when I was engaged in conversation. Crack my ribs once you have me on the down and panting for breath.
"Where are you going? Do you go to school in philly? Oh my gosh are you in a fraternity (as my greek letters were goldly displayed across my chest)?! That's so exciting! Hi! My name is...
All of this in rapid succession. The flip-flop wearing delight sitting across the aisle from me flashed a comfortable sorority girl smile that comes with years of knowing that she's too-hot-for-school and that if she talks to you you best consider yourself damn lucky. I gave her answers.
I did go to school in Philly. But today I would be Jack and my major would still be the nerdy combination of engineering and business that I now pursue passionately - but I would be pre-med as well. Grown up in Mexico but raised in an international locations known to her only as "abroad, you know...". I would be a senior with med-school lined up and yes, I was considering an offer from Big Bank but that's the way these things go - "you know...:. An easy smile flashed back inherited from a culture my parents proudly inculcated in me. The flash of pearly whites is a combination of friendly amusement and interested bemusement.
I get my Kindle out of my messenger bag, carefully insert my earbuds and proceed to ignore her as I see the telling glint in her eye. She has more questions. She is bored. She needs attention.
Who am I to refuse her?
And so she tells me an interesting story about her travels. How much she learned by being abroad in Istanbul and how her Middle Eastern Studies Major combined with minors in Farsee and French are opening doors for her in an embassy in Oman. Shit. Truth bomb. My interest peaks right around the time we start discussing the oil works of Latin America and the two polarizing examples - Petrobras and Pemex.
--
I hate the disposability of the story as I continue to engage in it. An interesting one-time serving of a person like this comes along once in an aquamarine moon. Someone to talk to about the wide range of topics stewing in my mind, someone that uses the word marinate and political spectrum in the same sentence, someone who realizes that the use of the word petticoat in this day and age represents little more than pure snobbery. Perhaps I am hypnotized like my gender is prone to be. We are the snake and everything about a woman - their sweet sweet eyes, soft giggle and sideways sloped bangs - are the enchanters flute.
Ladies and Gentlemen, in preparation for our arrival please put your tray tables up and return your seats to their fully upright position.
And with that conversation ceases. She still doesn't know my name and I've quickly forgotten hers.
Touchdown.
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