Arsenio and Rebecca sat at their gate in the international departures waiting area and watched the ebb and flow of humanity. Their flight was still an hour away.
“I remember my last flight. It was, wow, fifteen years ago,” said Rebecca.
“Where’d you go?”
Rebecca looked up as she tried to remember. “Calgary, I think.”
“Yeah? what was it like?”
Rebecca chuckled. “There was a guy who argued with the stewardess about his bag.”
“Flight attendant,” said Arsenio.
“They’re not called stewardesses. They’re called flight attendants.”
“It’s my story, not yours. And in my story it was a stewardess.”
“Oh well. Excuse me,” said Arsenio.
Rebecca gave a precocious grin. “You’re excused. May I continue?”
Arsenio offered a subtle bow of his head. “By all means.”
“So this guy wouldn’t stow his bag in the overhead compartment. He delayed the flight half an hour arguing with the,” she paused, “flight attendant.”
Arsenio smiled. “It’s like the one person who coughs all flight long. You know we’re all gonna catch what they have,” said Arsenio.
“Then there’s the baby on the red eye flight who just won’t stop crying.”
“Or the huge guy who sits in the middle seat who hasn’t discovered the joys of deodorant. On a ten hour flight.”
“I can top that. I once sat beside a guy who spent the whole flight explaining how someone bit off a piece of his ear,” said Rebecca.
The two watched a crowd as they moved purposefully to their gates.
“So tell me again why we’re flying to Cuba?” asked Arsenio.
“Because it’s an adventure,” said Rebecca. “So we’ll have funny stories to tell. And besides, it’s an island. We’d never get there by car.”