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“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“Have you ever met a male flight attendant who wasn’t?” I asked.
“I’ve never met a male flight attendant,” she replied. “Or any flight attendant for that matter. What, are they like vampires and only come out at night or something?”
“I’ve met male flight attendants,” Ben said as he raised the roof, pumping one fist into the air.
“It’s kind of like lottery winners,” Jill continued, kind of speaking to herself at this point. “Someone wins the lottery like every week, meaning there’s a new millionaire in town…every week. So how have I never met one? I would so fuck the shit out of a lottery winner.”
“Don’t you have that…uh…” I tried to remember the name of the gay satellite positioning system. “…GPS,” I said finally snapping my fingers as I got it.
“GPS?” Ben asked, his eyebrows furled.
“Gaydar!” Jill said excitedly with a pointed finger, like she’d just located Ben’s gaydar system and it was sitting on the bridge of his nose.
“Ohhhh,” Ben said, lighting up with excitement. “But no…you’d think…but no. My gaydar has been broken since…well, since birth I suppose. It’s gotten me into some serious trouble.”
“You’re totally useless,” I said. “I need a fully loaded gay best friend, not the hatchback, sporty version. Anyway, I’m sticking with the hunk being gay.”
“No way,” Jill said.
“I’m on the fence and hoping he falls my way,” Ben said.
“Let’s bet then,” Jill suggested.
Giving Jill a challenge is never a good idea. Soon she was pushing the button above our heads, calling Mr. Hunk our way. He didn’t show up. Instead, an older lady with red, Chia Pet hair came over to us, looking slightly aggravated.
Please don’t bring that attitude our way because my friend here will…
“No. No. Not you. Where’s the really handsome guy?” Jill piped in, fully supporting my preconceived concerns.
The woman, her nametag said Shirley, rolled her eyes. We weren’t the first passengers to request him specifically.
“He was moved to coach,” Shirley informed us.
“Can you trade places with him?” Jill asked.
Shirley chuckled. “No, I’m sorry.”
Whatever happened to the customer is always right? Or the customer always gets what she wants? I think both are used right? Why not, the customer always gets the hot stud flight attendant when she wants him?
Ben put a hand on Jill’s thigh, his silent request for her to shut up. I looked over at her and glared, adding my quiet plea.
“Hmm,” Jill said.
And I feared what would come next.
“Jill, we’re on vacation, remember?” I said. “Happy thoughts.”
“Okay,” Jill said, taking a deep breath. “Well, when you get the chance, Shirley, can you please let the smokin’ hot flight attendant in coach know that the sexy chick in…”
Jill looked at me and I knew what she wanted. She couldn’t remember her seat number.
“5-F,” I reminded her.
“The sexy chick in 5-F would like to screw his brains out? Please?”
My hand went to my eyes, shielding them from Shirley’s reaction. I couldn’t believe Jill. She’s always been a little bit crazy, but a little bit. This was like the cup spilith over kinda crazy.
