Billy’s Bumps

TurbulenceHe sadly wiped the remaining bits of chewed nuts and cranberry juice off his pants as he tried to will himself to go back into the main cabin.  It wasn’t the poor child’s fault that he vomited – his mother was wearing such a hideous knitted sweater that Billy couldn’t blame the kid for upchucking.  No one dressed up to fly these days – it was all threadbare yoga pants, short shorts with upper thighs rubbing on the seats, people taking off their 10-year old sneakers that they wore without socks in the rain – it was enough to make Billy wish he had never listened to his mother and started flying domestic routes.  It’s too hard for you to meet a nice man and adopt a baby if you’re always in Paris, Greece, Ankara, she said in her raspy drawl.  You fly domestic, at least you’re back in Texas every few days!  So he had stopped servicing the first class international cabins with their champagne, discreet drug use, and soft fleece blankets, and instead shoved pretzels and Coronas into the mouths of the masses.  And he still hadn’t met anyone on his rare days off, so his sacrifice had been for naught.  Billy wished for turbulence all of the time now – it was the only moments he had to himself at work.  Forcibly strapped to his seat as the plane bounced around the sky, he felt the aircraft taking him further and further away from the life he had imagined for himself.

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This entry was posted in A Dying Dream, Careers, Character, Love, Public Transit, Relationships, Travel, Workplace. Bookmark the permalink.

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