Darcy Hampden Lemarr should
not have been on that plane.
As it happens, I
shouldn’t have been on that plane either. But I was. And so was she. And it was
the best mistake in the history of confusing airports.
To begin with it was a fairly normal
day for me, sitting there on a plane, waiting, waiting and waiting as people
are apt to do while flying. I swished some orange juice around in a glass, not
caring for the taste of it, but enjoying having something to swish, and then
she sat down next to me, scowling.
I, being polite, offered the pretty
young lady my window seat. She turned ghastly pale and shuddered.
“Oh no, no thanks please. I think I’d
rather be as far away from a suffocating death as possible.”
On that cheery note, the flight attendant
instructed us to fasten our seatbelts and prepare for takeoff.
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