June 8, 2007
on airlines making my deviant lifestyle more difficult to pursue
There was a time, a glorious time when I picture Rat Packs having roamed both the club circuit and the skies, that naturally lounge-y cats and their groupies, like myself, boarded DC-10s in style, pockets to the brim with Pall Malls and butane lighters. Toxic-like Britney sky goddesses sauntered the slim aisles promising smiles and Sanka.

Smokes were smokeable on the tarmac or at 37,000 feet. Against the felt backdrop of an orange and green 747 first-class divider, multiple grey plumes clouded the back passengers' views. New showings of the latest 007 or George Burns vehicle thrilled both floors, although some enjoyed the shtick with champagne. I have noted that the peanuts and the pretzels remain archaically, and horrifically, the same.

During that time, jetsetting around the world was what I wanted to do when I grew up, right after I conquered cake decorating. I wanted to be a woman on the move, just like Pamela Ewing had been, waking up after sexual intercourse with Bobby with a pale bedsheet across my chest, tucked neatly under my arms. On dirty oil money, I could jet away at a moment’s notice, gulping those tiny bottles of clear liquid as I went. And I'd do all of it while wearing lots and lots of lip gloss and quite possibly pink spandex, just like Erin Grey did.

I have had some good times on these planes, well past the days of TWA and Eastern Airlines, and well into the years of ordering adult beverages within the International Dateline.

And so it was.

I had never taken valium before. And I had never been old enough to drink wine, the free wine that international flight attendants threw around like ticker tape. But now I was certifiably 21, and certifiably crippled by fright about making the multi-hour trip from the States to London. So I whipped up a Malibu rum and orange juice in the Newark Airport bathroom, popped two valium, and boarded the plane with a smile. I ended up sleeping through takeoff. When fear crept into the room, I'd simply pop another valium. By valilum number three I was roaming the aisles making friends with those sweet South Dakotans; by wine number four I had a date for Wimbledon; at valium number five I was simply helping myself to the drink cart as it went down the aisle. Seven valium and eight tiny bottles of wine later, my parents were the lonesome two left waiting outside of Gatwick customs for their arriving daughter. Because she was in the cockpit.

This drinking and traveling thing would work out just fine. On a flight between Tallahassee and New Jersey with an inevitable stopover in Atlanta, home of all things Delta and humid, the man across the aisle asked my name and destination. Funny that we’d both be traveling to Newark that day, same flights and all. After the 38-minute flight to ATL, we were probably one drink deep. At the Chili’s To Go bar we drank two more and laughed while chatting about the motherland; by the time we were ready to board our final jet he was at the check-in counter switching our seats so we – now a reportedly blonde, mutt sister and her classically Italian brother – could sit next to one another. I fell asleep during takeoff. I woke up to him stroking my face. The one on which he wore his wedding band.

I was quick to let him know that a) drinks are great and b) laughing is even better, but that c) I was not raised on Jerry Springer and therefore do not pursue said drama. He looked at me as if I had horns, which I might have, given that my hair was likely matted due to my tipsy sleeping pose. "Yes, cheating. At what point did you become a cheater?" And he began to spill. His first tryst developed after a telephone conversation with a saleswoman. Then there was another, then others. His wife, his young children never knew. I was kind to him, more interested in studying his kind than anything. I shared my disapproval.

Later I caught him behind me in the bathroom line (those that existed freely prior to 9/11). He whispered a soft, "sure you don't want to join the mile-high club?" in my ear. I likely showered with bleach for at least the following week.

ok. more later.


14 Comments:

Blogger I-66 said...
Blogger t2ed said...

Listen, doll. You'd best make with the stories already. While I am always a gentlemans, Peter Lawford is already pawing a stewardess and you do not want to see Norman Fell angry.

Blogger MKD said...

I can't believe how much your post is exactly like my life. Dirty oil money. Sex on cream colored sheets. Jetsetting. Smoking.

Weird.

Blogger Paige Jennifer said...

Just love the visual of you socializing with the rest of the passengers. Um, you are SO the passenger I want to lock in the bathroom. After I steal your wine, of course.

Blogger Desiree said...

I love that you were helping yourself to the drink cart...made me laugh out loud!! ;)

Blogger Desiree said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

Blogger Maya said...

Ewww. Yucky guy! Although I do cop to having a bit of a philisophical longing to join the M.H.C. Philisophical in the sense that I think, "that would be fun.....in theory - but in reality...NO."

Blogger LizzyQ said...

Love it! Great great blog. Perfectly crafted posts ... and before this comment starts to get odd, I'll stop (appropriately, with glass 'o wine in hand).

Blogger Rice said...

Men, can't live with them...

I love the idea of you taking seven valium and drinking 8 "little" bottles of wine and managing to get into the cockpit! That definitely WAS pre-9/11 days.

Once on a trip to Panama (as in THE canal), I was out partying the night before my flight home and ran into the entire crew on my flight...drinking...at like 4am. The male flight attendant tried to take me home, and because I told him no, he wouldn't let me upgrade the next day!

Blogger Tinsley said...

I had to laugh about you South Dakotans comment since I am from there. I always wondered how we came off to others. Cheers girl!

Blogger Jorge said...

WHY IS THERE NO PICTURE OF YOU WITH HORNS?

Or...

WHY IS THERE NO PICTURE OF HORNY MAMA?

:)

Are you KIDDING me with this?
Really? I guess I didn't really know that people like that existed.

Was he hot? Please tell me he was incredibly hot. Otherwise I will just never understand how he could get so many women to fall for it?

Way to go Kris for resisting his Italian charms... and for studying this wonderous beast.

Blogger kitkat said...

I really need to start drinking before and during flights. It seems like the only way to travel. What I want to know is how you were still conscious after the myriad valium and wines.

Post a Comment

<< Home

footer