I missed the 10 o'clock (blame traffic, my ride, or the fact that my alarm didn't go off till 10:37), but I was right on time for the noon flight to Atlanta.There's something about the airport that always puts a smile on my face. Maybe it's the $7 cheeseburgers, or the smoke-free air, or maybe it's the way that sexy monotone woman tells me to watch my step as I approach the moving walkway.Whatever it is, I have yet to have a single negative experience from an airport.
It was there,between the lifeless rows of seats and the frozen yogurt mini-cart, where I saw her. I passed by delicately, hoping not to arouse suspicion or anxiety. Her auburn hair glistened from the tarmac's reflection-a subtle ashy gray with hints of mustard yellow. She sat there, awaiting the next flight, carelessly flipping through a copy of "Twilight," a book that I've always thought served as proof that women were idiots, and drinking a mango smoothie. How would I play this? Classily, that's how. I took my seat across from her; two seats her left. She glanced at me, with those big round blue eyes; I bashfully shied away. The game was afoot.
Her letterman jacket told me many things: First, she was probably an athlete. Or a musician. Or a scholar. In short, she was something. Secondly, she had the effort and tenacity to stick with something enough to get a prize-I knew she would enjoy this flirtatious tennis match I had prepared.
I decided to startoff slow, casually glancing upon her denim jeans and kangaROOS.The red and purple blend really made her feet even more glamorous than I initially thought. She would occasionally catch my furtive stares, blinking her eyes flirtatiously in my general direction. Of course, I was too quick for her to incriminate me of watching her, as I would dash my head to the opposite direction. This would put me in awkward positions, as there was an elderly man to my left, and a pregnant woman to my forward. Needless to say, I was not interested in either (though Robert,the wizened old chap, did buy me a few drinks).
With an hour until boarding time, I decided to step up my game. She must have thought so too, as she got up and proceeded to "casually" walk past my line of sight to purchase a fine Cinnabon cinnamon bun. The aroma followed her as she returned, nimbly nibbling the oversized pastry. Her hips sashayed left, right, left, right. This girl knew what she was doing.
I myself got up to purchase a newspaper, and replicated her challenge. As I took the long way to the newsstand, making sure to walk in front of her, I began to wonder what rebuttal she would place before me. Should I beat her to the punch, and purchase her a package of 5 gum? Would that send the right message? "Hey, my name's Joel. Let's chew together." Yes, that would do nicely.
When I returned from the news-station, gleefully chewing a refreshing stick of "Winter-StormExplosion," I noticed that she had pulled out her cell phone, and was texting furiously. This was it! I had gotten to her! She was undoubtedly remarking of our crazed game of love, detailing my amazing prowess and obscenely delicious build.As I watched her thumbs press the 8-digit keypad, ravenous thoughts ran through my head. What was she texting? Who was she texting to? Should I ask her what she's texting? I decided not to worry about it for the time being, and prepared to launch operation:conversation.
What was she texting?
This crept into my head as fast as I pulled out the gum, and in my confusion, I dropped the gum packageon the floor. Robert tried to assist me, and our hands brushed ever so deftly.His skin was surprisingly soft, and the long, spindling fingers that had purchased me several drinks now displayed a gentle caring. He almost seemed to resent me pulling away, but I had to. I carefully placed the deliciously refreshing gum back within the confines of my jacket, and pursued my game.
After I had²e-situatedyself, I heard a soft click, from my beloved's general direction. Apen, perhaps? Or maybe the closing of a Hello Kitty pocketbook? Click. I heard it again. Oh snap. That's her cell phone camera. Oh God. She's really turning on the heat, isn't she? Should-should I pose? I should pose, shouldn't I? I began to pose.
I shifted in myseat, carefully deciding what I should highlight first. I settled on my legs, carefully drawing my pant leg up seductively. My foot tapped repeatedly, mirroring the beat of my heart. That must've gotten her attention, as I heard the click repeat itself.From this point on, my body moved to the rhythms of the airport, The Proclaimers' "500 Miles" leading the charge. My hips gradually flashed to thefront, and my backside basked prominently in her direction. As if on cue, my arms bulged their masculine strength, playfully pretending to be pointing atrandom objects around the airport. Robert smiled gleefully. He knew what game I was playing, and gave me a thumbs-up approval. That made my task easier, knowing that I had supporters encouraging me, nay, pleading me for more.
By the end of my passionate display, I had realized that she had put her phone away. Of course, I thought, she doesn't want to see it (referring to my glorious body) all now; there is a rather cozy airplane bathroom for us to explore. The flight was an hour and a half or so, minus roughly 22 minutes of landing time, giving us approximately 65 minutes of bliss, providing there was no glorious turbulence.
Only a few minutes until we start boarding, I thought, I must make enter my endgame strategy. Suddenly, as if from God's voice upon Mount Olympus, a new PA announcement rang:
"Flight 1832 to Atlanta has been moved to gate 27, we are sorry for the inconvenience."
Don't be sorry! You've provided me with the most opportune moment! I'll simply carry her luggage and/or self to the gate, and all will be fine! Oh yeah, this was perfect.
I stood up, coiffing my already perfectly coiffed hair into a perfect coif of coiffi-ness. My jacket draped upon my shoulders, a leather chain-gang-esque steal from the spring selection at Macy's. This was it, I was ready, and I pounced like a rare breed of Mongolian Tiger-Lion.
"Madame," I began,"Need you a man to carry that bag to the gate? I believe your rather feeble and gorgeous composition should not be troubled with such incredulous manners."
Her head turned,her eyes blanked. I mean blinked. She gazed into my eyes with her own. Seconds felt like years; years, like decades. Gently she placed her hand atop her belongings, tenderly her lips parted
"I'm not going to Atlanta; I'm waiting for the San Francisco flight to get here, so I can meet my fiancé for our-"
"STOP right there!" I interjected. "Our trifled game of love has gone far too far, we must cast aside this flirtatious façade and be one!"
"Um .yeah, about that. If you don't leave right now, I'm going to scream rape, and-"
I turned away. Her words drowned away, failing to reach my ears. It was apparent that her parentswere probably somewhere in the terminal; she was not to engage in our act of love with such protection afoot. She had so much potential! Robert must have seen my despair, as he came and joined me, offering to buy me another drink before we boarded. I said yes (who can't use another drink?), and headed to the bar, dreaming of what could have (should have?) been.