Recap: 45-Minute Airplane Trip.

With three-and-a-half hours of sleep under my belt and a pounding headache, I boarded the 10:20 flight from Omaha to Saint Louis this morning. I passed rows of staring passengers as I made my way to the back of the plane, the first line of Jay-Z’s “99 Problems” buzzing around in my head for who knows what reason. I picked a window seat toward the back row, far enough away from the wing and jet engines to see a view.

The plane was supposed to be packed, since it was en route to Orlando. And sure enough, a woman with grey eyes sat down in the aisle seat nearby, smiling and saying hello as she shoved her bag under the seat. I watched the passengers slowly make their way down the aisle: a woman with three kids, a bleach-blonde teenage girl with a scowl plastered on her face, a businessman talking on his cell phone. The next guy resembled a Rastafarian, with his Bob Marley t-shirt and a thick black beard that stuck out from his chin. I kept reading my book as he walked by.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked the woman.

“No, not at all,” she said, standing up to let him in. I didn’t look up as he sat down; I just kept peering out the window at the airline workers as they loaded the bags into the plane.

The woman pulled out a Sudoku puzzle, the Rasta-looking man put in his headphones, I jotted down some qualms I had with The Time Traveler’s Wife. We all made sure that our seatbelts were on and our seatbacks were in their full and upright positions. The airplane taxied out to the runway, the Loess Hills towering in the background.

“Are you from around here?” asked the woman.

“No,” said Rasta. “I’m originally from Florida. I’ve been working up here setting up cell phone towers for the last few months.”

The woman giggled. “Oh, that sounds so exciting!” she cooed.

Here we go, I thought. Bad flirting attempts, and the plane wasn’t even off the ground yet. I stared out the window, as the plane accelerated down the runway.

“Yeah, I’ve been all over these northern states since March,” he said. “North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska. Basically any town that has one gas station, one restaurant, and one road. Haven’t spent much time in bigger cities.”

The woman nodded eagerly. I turn the page of my book, pretending to be interested in it.

“It’s never been as cold for me as it was this winter,” he said. “Hell, I’m from Bombay, and it never gets below sixty degrees there. And then I had to get used to that -40 degree weather. I was in Iowa in April when it went from 85 one day to being 10 degrees and snowing the next day. Hoped that I could get off of work, but they made me go in anyway.”

“That’s too bad,” said the woman.

The two passengers talked for a while as the flight attendant made her way to our row. “Would you like something to drink?” she said.

“Cranberry juice,” I said.

“I’ll have the same,” said the man. “But I’d like some vodka with it.”

He pulled out his wallet and tried to give the attendant a five dollar bill. “We only take credit card here,” said the flight attendant.

He handed her a credit card which the attendant swiped on her portable credit card machine but could not get to work. The woman next to him reached for her purse.

“Here,” she said, pulling out her credit card. “Let me get it. It’s only five bucks.”

He thanked her by giving her five dollars in cash. The tower builder took his vodka and cranberry juice and set it on his tray. He didn’t bother to touch it the entire trip. Granted, our trip was 45 minutes long, but not even a sip? What a waste.
As we were getting ready to land, the pilot flew the plane over downtown Saint Louis. I looked out the window to see if I could see the Arch. I turned around and saw the Rasta man staring at me.

“I wasn’t staring at you, don’t worry,” he said. “Just the view.”

Smooth. I shrugged and looked back outside.

“So, are you from Florida originally?” asked the woman.

“I was born in Germany, grew up in Central America, moved to Florida for elementary school,” he said. “Was in the Air Force for a while, got all the benefits I could and got out of there.”

I put my book back in my purse. It’s funny who you can meet on a short flight.