"Would you care for anything to drink?" The flight attendant was brunette, buxom and all business.
"Ginger Ale." Nancy was anxious. Hell, she practically spewed saliva like a lawn sprinkler from her nearly foaming mouth. Well, maybe it
wasn`t that bad, but anyone watching got the idea she wanted the fucking Ginger Ale and hurry.
"Ginger Ale," the flight attendant repeated as she passed the drink past me to Nancy at the window seat. "And you?"
"What beers do you have?" I always ask this question, but I rarely give a shit. Just don`t make it light unless it`s Amstel Light. I prefer
pilsners, ambers, and/or dark/stouts. I can`t stomach wheats, honeys, or any "flavorful" beers like raspberry or pumpkin or cinnamon apple
or some such. And yes there probably is some idiot brewing cinnamon apple ale. Like I said, I didn`t care what beers she had, I just liked
"Bud, Budlite, Miller Lite, Miller Genuine Draft, and Heineken," the flight attendant shot that information out of her mouth like a stock
ticker--boom, boom, boom, boom and Heineken. I mean she was, as I said, all work, no bullshit.
She had great tits too. I`m not always careful about how I notice a woman`s scoops. I can`t help it. I usually look and form a judgment
before I even realize that I was looking. I try not to gawk, but I know I do anyway, so I forgive myself for gawking as long as I don`t
Thankfully I didn`t drool at our flight attendant`s rack even though she bounced them so close to my face while she was taking my order I
could have stuck my nose in her businesses. I wasn`t going to get to check the channels on the flight attendant`s knobs anyway with them
buried beneath the light blue uniform shirt and dark blue sweater. Nor was her shirt opened low enough for me to get much of a cleavage
shot. She slammed the door on what little I could see by covering herself with her left hand as she readied her right hand on some can of
beer while she was giving me the stock options.
I was busted. She caught me. Like I said, I don`t always notice when I`m noticing.
She popped and propped a can of Heineken in my hand before I could get the last of the name out of my mouth. She fired, "Four fifty please,"
at me like a vigilante sweeping the neighborhood streets clean of all perverts.
C`est la vie. I enjoy taking the Peeper Plunge down the Mammary Gulley. No harm no foul. I`ll enjoy it after I`m married, and I`ll enjoy it
when I`m old and gray. What is that--you can look but you better not touch? Read the menu but you got to eat at home? Look, I was never a
`clean little boy`, and I thoroughly expect to become a `dirty old man` too. So consider my wandering eye to be nothing more than practice
or experience for a post retirement occupation.
Anyway, I wasn`t quite so fast with getting the cash to the flight attendant as she was getting the beer to me. In fact, I did what I know
all the flight attendants hate, gave her a twenty.
"I`ll be back with your change in a bit. Would you care for something to drink?" and she advanced to the row in front of us, with the
bookmark of returning change to me.
I figure they have to hate that. I would if I was them. I`ve seen the beholden look on their faces as they announce that "they`ll be back in
a bit with your change." Beholden in the sense that after servicing a hundred or so other passengers with free beverages, moving the cart up
and down and out of the way for small bladder passengers, retrieving pillows from overhead compartments, retrieving blankets from overhead
compartments, answering questions about arrival times, and if there is anything else besides nuts `cause I have that thing with nuts, and
navigating it all through occasional and random acts of turbulence now the attendant has to find change and get it back to you. And oh by
the way, they don`t take tips.
I washed the minor guilt I felt away with a gulp of suds and reassessed my environs. This was a smaller plane, a Boeing MD80. Nancy and I
were assigned to a set of seats several rows up from where we were now on the back row, and we were suppose to be on the right side with
three seats. As good fortune would have it, however, the flight wasn`t full, closer to three fourths. Upon discovering our luck, Nancy
relocated us to the very back of the plane. Last row, left side, she got the window.
Taking another sip of my beer I glanced over at Nancy and wondered why she didn`t request any vodka or something. Why`d she just order
Ginger Ale? Especially with how nervous I could see that she was combined with all that went on yesterday? Hell I almost felt like we were a
couple of criminals today fleeing the scene of a crime. We weren`t the criminals of course, although there was a crime. Nancy and I were the
accusers rather than the accused. A lot of shit went down yesterday, and I`m still scratching my head on how we got to sneak away like
Anyway, it made me want to have a beer, so cheers. Nancy? She doesn`t drink beer. She does like her vodka though. So why`d she just order
soda? Because she has her own stash of mini bottles in her purse and so all she needed was just a fucking can of mixer, a small plastic
glass with ice, and some room while she concocts her Aunt Nancy`s Special Elixir of Calm M`Quivers--80 proof. Hey, I`m guessing that
somewhere along the line she saved money doing it this way, so who am I to judge?
Speaking of which, I mentioned how fast the flight attendant was at shooting me a can of brew before I had finished saying the product name?
Well by the time the flight attendant`s blue polyester covered pooper produced the drink for the bald guy in front of me, Nancy had her ice
cubes doused with Crown Royal in the convenient travel size bottle and was en route to adding the Ginger Ale fizzle. Impressive.
I looked at my watch. Nine a.m. Three quarters of a plane full of passengers minus two sipping soda, coffee, fruit juice or sleeping. Not
us. Feeling like I`m on the lamb or taking a victory lap on a plane ride, I`ve got to tell you now, before you form the wrong opinion, I
don`t usually drink this early ... except on St. Patty`s Day, and its April seventeen. Two days past tax day and a month since St. Patty`s
Day, so no I`m not usually having cocktails at this hour. I`m usually not having cocktails at this hour while on a plane, with my boss, and
heading to a business meeting either. Even if that were all true I`m especially not used to having drinks at this hour with my boss on my
second day on the job. No shit. Did you catch that? Nancy`s my new boss and today is my second day on the job.
All that shit that went down yesterday on my first day of work, combined with how I`m drinking at the start of my second day of work, makes
me wonder if this is the right place for me to work. Anyway, the HR lady gave me the `wanna come on board` question two weeks ago. By the
end of that week, I was in the `Lab` taking a squirt in a cup. I continued my programming trade at BS yesterday, whereupon the frisky little
vixen seated next to me and my new boss informed me that we were heading to San Diego tomorrow. That`d be today.
Two weeks ago. Yesterday. Today. Do you believe it? I just barely do, and I`m living it right now. It`s been amazing. It`s been atmospheric.
And for a boss? Nancy`s the hottest little thing I`ve ever worked for. That includes all the restaurant jobs I held before I graduated
college. She captured me the first time I laid eyes on her. I fell in love with her vodka burping little ass right off. First thing. Did I
drop that yet? No? Oh shit.
It caught me off guard. I mean in one tick I`m interviewing for a job, and in the next, I`m flirting with who might become my boss. You hear
what I`m saying? Not just me though. I flirted with her, and she flirted with me. I am so ready to slap a label of `All Time Favorite Job`
on this BS gig, you know? BS, of course being the name of my new company, but I`ll get to all that later.
There are two bottom lines here: work and play. The first bottom line is that I`ve been working in the professional world for fourteen years
now, and I`ve had at least a half a dozen different occupations during that time. I`ve been a laborer, fitness counselor, salesman, HR
recruiter, corporate trainer, Finance Analyst, and now IT programmer. The other bottom line is that I`ve been on the dating circuit for
twenty-three years or since I was fifteen. My love life is and always has been a wreck. I`ve dated all the hair colors, many of the skin
colors, several nationalities, older woman, young girls, some full figured, some waifs, some buxom and some barely there. But someone I work
with? Someone I work for?
Did I fall in love with my boss? Yeah. I did. I never saw it coming. I mean it wasn`t in the job posting you know? That read:
"WANTED: Programmer Analyst with BS, a company you`ll grow to love."
"WANTED: Programmer Analyst who`ll fall in love with the boss."
But that`s how I hear falling in love goes. Blind Cupid shooting an arrow and it`s suddenly spring and the birds and the bees and let me
fondle these. It is April after all, you know? Anyway, that`s how it happened for me. I mixed my bottom lines of work and play together, and
Cupid was on me like an aging, psychopathic Vietnam War vet. A fucking Marine no less, huh? Now do you see why I`m sipping so early in the
morning? No? It`s a long flight. Just listen.