Wiston Papers

I love to fly.    It's the passengers I can't stand.

“What in the world are you wearing,” stammers Beverly with open jaw as she almost drops her pot of coffee.  “You look like...like...”

“I just flew back from California,” explains John.

“Dressed like that?” Beverly asks in disbelief.

“What?”  John wonders with both arms stretched wide.

“Well, you’re a little...uh...shall we say...casual?”  I suggest warily.

“It’s how everybody flies in America today, dude.  You got to get with the program.”

“You must have gotten a homeless discount to be allowed on a plane in those...clothes,”  Beverly sighs as she takes the coffee back to her station.  

“I didn’t want to look out of place,” John counters.

“Were you on a religious retreat?” I reflect.  “I mean the sandals are...”

“Easy to slip off at security, bro,” John sips his Indonesia Kopi Luak coffee.  “Hm, this has an interesting flavor, Beverly.”

“Just what you deserve world traveler,” Beverly pats John on his shoulder then pours my first cup of Gayo Mountain Wash.

“And those baggy shorts you have on?” I glance suspiciously.

“Don’t have to wear a belt when I go through the metal detector.  But with my weight gain, they tend to slip, and when I had to raise both arms for the full body scan...”  John pauses as he swallows with slight embarrassment.  “...there was a wardrobe malfunction I won’t describe.”

“Please spare us the details...no matter how small,” Beverly comments.  “How’s that Kopi Luak, John?”

“The bouquet is hard to place,” he ponders.

“And that sleeveless tee-shirt?”  I observe.

“I have nothing to hide,” reveals John.  

“Maybe you should rethink that,” Beverly refills our cups.

“Have you seen how some of the women dress...barely,” John notes voyeuristically.  

“Did you pack anything?” I change the subject.

“Oh, I never check my luggage.  Only carry-on for me, man.”  John boasts.  “Hm...this Kopi Luak may need some more cream and sugar.”

“So you travel light,” I affirm.

“Not that light.  It’s a big bag but I always manage to jam it into the overhead compartment...even if it takes several minutes,” John rubs his stomach.

“And all the other passenger who are waiting to find their seats?”  I suggest sarcastically.

“Not a problem. They can wait. They’ll cause their own traffic jam trying to find their row. I swear half of them can’t count anyway.  What does it take to find your seat and plop down, gheez!”

“Maybe there should be an IQ test for passengers,” I smile.

“And a dress code for sure,” Beverly eyes John critically.  “And bald men with pony tails?  It’s definitely ‘What Not to Wear,’” Beverly makes the quotation marks with her hands still holding our pots of coffee.

“But goes with my outfit?” John reaches back to adjust his hair ribbon.    "Speaking of going, I may have to use your bathroom, Beverly.  It think this Kopi Luak may be a little strong.”

“The lavatory is aft,” Beverly uses airline steward gestures to point the way. “Please give me a few minutes of your attention, look at the back of the menu on the table in front of you for instructions and read along as I explain the safety measures of our lavatory.”

“Not funny.  I never listen to those announcements,” John pleads.  "I really need to go...”

“This is a non-smoking cafe,” Beverly continues.  “Smoking is not permitted in the cafe lavatory.  Tampering with the smoke detector is strictly forbidden.”

John struggles to his feet, clutches his baggy shorts, and stumbles toward the bathroom as he loses one sandal.

“Did I mention that we have a strict dress code for anyone who uses the lavatory?  I don’t think your attire matches our requirements,” Beverly lectures.

“Argh...!” moans John.

   

Steve Coon

June 15, 2013