I had suffered a very nasty bout of flu while in Canada during my Christmas break visiting a girlfriend and her family. I was looking forward to returning to normal life in a relatively warmer weather so, finding myself sitting next to an attractive young woman was a welcome bonus.
At this point I have to declare that in those early days of my itinerate life I was happy to engage my fellow passengers with any kind of conversation. This pleasant and friendly side of my personality has since been wiped out by many experiences including the one I am about to relate.
I said hello to the woman occupying the seat left of mine and she acknowledged me with a beaming smile that revealed a good set of teeth and azure blue eyes, then went back to reading her book. I stowed away my hand luggage, and before settling down in my seat, I furtively examined my fellow passenger noting she had short brown hair that barely covered her ears with gold studs, porcelain clear skin, manicured finger nails, a pair of jeans, a simple white cotton blouse and a gold necklace that disappeared under the blouse material thus hiding the pendant at the end of it. Examination completed, I settled myself down and began to fiddle with control buttons, foldaway tables, sick bags, inflight magazines, airflow outlets, anything within my reach.
She: are you nervous?
Me: me? No, I’m not nervous; do I look nervous?
She: sorry, I just thought you might be
Me: nah, I don’t get nervous on flights
She: ok, good
Preparation for take off went smoothly but it went on for far too long. Finally, the Air Canada captain came on the intercom and announced a delay due to the work going on outside to clear the runway from frozen snow.
Me: it is impressive how they can deal with terrible weather conditions in Canada. A day like this in England and Heathrow will shut down completely
She: oh absolutely! But to be fair, we are not used to this kind of weather in England
Me: true. We are not used to hot weather either. Last year we went nuts when we had that heat wave and roads melted!
She (giggling): you are right there, poor us!
We shared a light-hearted ribbing of England’s way of life and in the process we exchanged names and more particulars about one another. Her name was Anna and she was returning home where she lived at home with her divorced mother and younger brother in Kent. She alternated with her brother by visiting her Canadian father over Christmas. She recently graduated as a pharmacist and was working at a chemist in her hometown and was not in a relationship (yessss!).
Finally, we were cleared for take off, seatbelts fastened; safety instructions duly ignored and Anna confessed SHE was nervous. I cheekily asked if she wanted me to hold her hand to calm her down and to my pleasant astonishment she said: yes please. (double yessss!).
The plane took off smoothly and so did our rapport. For the next hour or so we talked about our respective work, our taste in music, movies, TV programmes and while we did not exactly have similar tastes in things, we did not clash either; we convinced ourselves that we had contrasting, yet compatible outlooks on life. All in all, I began to fantasise about meeting her again on terra firma. Me visiting her in Kent some weekends for a taste of the countrylife; she reciprocating and coming to London for a spot of culture and entertainment.
I wouldn’t be telling this story if events unfolded the way I had hoped and fantasised, would I?
Dinner was served. We had a choice of the rubber chicken in cream sauce and boiled potato, leather beefsteak in some brown sauce and mashed potato, or pasta in tomato sauce. All choices came with steamed vegetables. A side salad of one lettuce leaf, two cherry tomatoes, two slices of cucumber and a pitted olive was the no-choice starter. For afters they offered us lemon tart, two wedges of cheese and a pack of water biscuits. A small bar of chocolate, which turned out to be the source of my spectacular downfall completed the contents of the tray.
Airline food is never designed for enjoyment rather; it is set as a technical challenge to mediocre chefs to see how they can assemble a menu on a small tray so that the tray surface area is entirely filled; nothing protrudes from the sides; nothing tastes good; nothing can be opened without spilling, scolding or breaking; everything is either too hot or too cold; and nowhere to discard empty containers or wrappers. Thereafter, the passenger is kept busy for the next 30 to 45 minutes trying to figure out the puzzle of how to eat without trashing the place or self-inflicting physical damage.
Thankfully, we both survived the experience relatively unscathed and we exchanged opinions on the food, she reported her pasta to be average and I reported my beefsteak to be slightly more tender than a piece of tractor tyre. I consumed part of the salad, a small part of the main course, and the cheese without the water biscuits followed by the lemon tart. Still a little hungry, I completed my meal with the bar of chocolate. Anna ate less than me and left the lemon tart and chocolate bar. Sensing I may not had enough food, she offered me both; I declined the lemon tart but foolishly took the chocolate bar.
Food trays were gathered by the flight attendants, we settled down for a lazy chat about anything and everything. I was confident that in less than two hours I had acquitted myself very well in terms of nurturing a potential relationship with a very attractive and available young lady. Things could not have gone better so far but; they could get worse, much worse!
Halfway through a transatlantic flight, after a relatively heavy meal, coupled with a low din of aircraft engines and dimmed lights, the scene was perfect for a snooze. Slowly, our conversation turned intermittent and less fluid. I began to drift off and finally fell asleep.
I woke up with a start and for a moment had no idea where I was. I stared ahead for a few seconds until I came to and began to make sense of the world around me.
It is Sunday 2 January – I am on Air Canada flight back to England – I am sitting next to a girl I met on the flight – I fancy her – my mouth is dry but my chin is wet – I touch my chin and wipe drool – I look at my hand and it has sticky, brown drool – I vaguely remember having chocolate at the end of my inflight meal – I look to my left and my fellow passenger is busy looking out of the window – I look at her right shoulder and her white blouse has a brown patch the size of a football field – I do the maths and realise I must have slept on her shoulder – I am going crimson with embarrassment – I am trying to apologise but she turns from the window gazing and begins to read.
We never spoke again on the flight; we didn’t say goodbye as we disembarked; and we silently passed one another in the airport terminal.
I wonder if that white blouse ever washed completely, I hope so because over the years, my sense of shame hasn’t washed well at all.
