Half-way through the shift and I was behind schedule. Panting, blisters popping, I paused for a 15-second break.
The urgent alerts from the GPS strapped to my head couldn’t shake the bliss.
Six seconds later the floor manager showed up. “That’s it,” he said. “This is a verbal.”
The GPS parroted the threat. “Verbal! Verbal!”
“Two more and you’re fired!”
Humans weren’t meant to micromanaged to the nanosecond by computers. I snapped. My lightning fast quick draw would have been enough to take out Wyatt Earp himself.
I scanned him right in the face. He screamed. I ran.
A drabble is a short storm form consisting of exactly 100 words.
Today’s post is brought to you by the Universe (or, as I like to call it, the random number generator). I asked for three random words and was given, in this order: Undesirable, pilot, litter. Yes, this post will be about the undesirable kind. Not the kinder, gentler desirable litter. Now, if you’ll fasten your seat belts this post is about to take off. -Ed.
Undesirable Pilot Litter
by Tom B. Taker
Uneasily I took my seat. At least it was by the window. I wasn’t feeling so good. Flying always makes me nervous and this was my first time in an airplane in a long, long time. It had been so long I literally couldn’t remember when I’d last flown. Perhaps that business trip back when I’d been somebody? Certainly it was before the events of 9/11. I’d never been through TSA security before.
When did airport security start reaching into people’s pants, and what did they hope to find in my underwear? Just because I was ticklish I had to remove my shirt? That was not very pleasant. Sure I cried and yelled, “Stop touching me,” but that only seemed to egg them on.
No sense crying over spilled milk I said to myself. I might as well try to make the best of it. I adjusted in my seat and tried in vain to feel comfortable where the pee dribbles had gone down my leg. The warmth had quickly given way and was now ice cold. Breathe in, breathe out. Relax, dammit.
I heard rather than felt the deep rumbling from my gut. Anxiously I jammed the button for the flight attendant. “Where are the air sick bags?” Surprisingly I was able to get the words out. Things were finally going my way.
The contents of my stomach also came out before she had time to answer. Too late. Moments later I was provided with a garbage bag and towels. The groping would not continue. This time I was on my own.
Drenched in sweat, pee and my own juices, I finally decided to try to occupy my mind. Magazines? Gack, no! They suck. In a desperation move I turned my head and looked out the tiny little smudgy window.
My finger repeatedly jammed the attendent button until she reappeared. She did not look happy. “Sir! Listen to me,” she said sternly. “I have duties. You cannot keep monopolizing my time. Strange as it may seem, you are not the only passenger on this plane.”
I gestured out the window. Reluctantly she looked. The reaction in her eyes was priceless. Suddenly everything was okay.
I’ve been disturbed for quite some time and now I have to speak out. And there’s something bothering me, too. But, like always, that’s another story.
Whatever. I shall not be diverted from my quixotic quest!
Grab some popcorn because little Tommy is about to count to ten again. And grab The Belt, too, because by the time I’m done, I just might need to be punished out behind the wood shed.
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“Sorry, kids. Those answers – all of them – are wrong. Looks like, once again, I’m the only one with the right answer. What did you expect? After all, don’t forget who’s the teacher and who’s the student here. That’s not by accident! Aw, don’t cry. Look. Participant ribbons for everyone, okay? Yeah!”
It’s true. My career in education was a short one.
I was going to run a caption contest for the picture of Arizona Governor Jan Brewer planting a part of her anatomy in the airspace of Obama’s face, but then I realized that such a contest would be a pointless exercise. Why? Because, of course, there is one (and only one) right answer.