Coffee, Tea or Me? Read Online Free Page B

least six requests for more than the allowed two drinks, and only spilled one glass of water on a passenger.
    Everyone finally had his meal tray in front of him, and we actually inhaled our first free breath since takeoff. We hadn’t quite exhaled it when the aircraft hit a pocket of severe turbulence, sending it into a sheer and rapid descent of at least two hundred feet. The aircraft went down and the meal trays stayed up where they were, at least until nature grabbed hold of them and sent them smashing against the fixed trays that were on their way back up with the airplane. Their contact was violent, the result a cabin smeared from ceiling to floor with coffee, bourbon, gravy, butter, potatoes, fruit cocktail, and apple pandowdy. The turbulence also deposited the two of us on the floor after first reaching the ceiling during the drop. There were yips of surprise, cries of disgust, and wails of panic. We just let out a solid “ommph,” and picked ourselves up. Food was on everything, including the heads of many of the passengers.
    The turbulence continued as we made our way up the side to help the passengers. The plane, buffeted with severe shocks, dipped and swayed in an irregular pattern. The cabin was saturated with anger and fear, and we tried our best to calm those who were frightened and sooth those who were angry. George Kelman grabbed my arm as I rushed by with a towel to help a man wipe gravy from his face. George whispered to me, but with firmness, “Relax, sweetie. Everything’s going to be OK.” His smile and calm voice were welcome.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    “Dinner?”
    “Let’s talk when we get to Cleveland. OK?”
    “OK.” Again, that smile.
    We went about cleaning up the passengers and the cabin the best we could, all under the watchful eye of Miss Lewis. We had to admit later that this senior stew really did know how to keep calm in the midst of chaos. But it didn’t make us like her any better.
    We thought we were finally about to get the best of the cleanup chore when the first passenger reached for his “barf bag.” He made it in time but the second one didn’t.
    I was delivering my last towel to the little old lady when a middle-aged gentleman leaped from his seat and ran for the bathroom. Rachel stopped him in mid-aisle.
    “You can’t leave your seat, sir. The seat belt sign is on.” He was carrying his little bag.
    “I’ve got to,” he mumbled, his words slurred and garbled.
    “You can’t,” she said again, actually pushing him back toward his seat. “This turbulence is severe and you cannot leave your seat for anything.”
    He looked like he wanted to cry. “Please,” he pleaded. “My teeth,” indicating the bag clutched tightly in his hand.
    “Oh, no,” Rachel exclaimed.
    “Yes,” he lamented, his face screwed up to keep back the tears.
    Rachel looked down at the bag and drew a deep breath. “Give it to me,” she said quickly, grabbing the bag from his hand and running toward the lavatory. He watched her enter the lav and then sat meekly in his seat. She emerged five minutes later with his teeth wrapped in Kleenex. He took them from her and turned to the window to hide his embarrassment.
    We were approaching the Cleveland area and the captain had informed the passengers of this fact when the light from one of the bathrooms flashed on the signal panel in the buffet. Rachel went to the door of the lav to see what was the problem. Neither of us knew anyone had gotten up from his seat.
    “What’s wrong in there?” she asked.
    “I’m stuck,” was the reply from within.
    Rachel stood outside the lav door and smiled. I came from the buffet to join her.
    “What’s wrong in there?” I asked my flying partner.
    “It’s a woman. Says she’s stuck.”
    “Stuck?”
    “What’s stuck?”
    Rachel started to giggle.
    “You mean her fundament?” I offered. 2
    “Her what?”
    “Forget it.”
    The voice again sounded through the locked bathroom door. “Please help