Friday, June 18, 2010

The Mile High Blow Off

It's happened to every single one of you.

You're boarding a plane. Everybody lines up single file. Bored, and curious, you scan the crowd, spot that gay or girl who stands apart from the rest (i.e. smokin' hot) and hope that person gets seated next to you (across the aisle or, at the very least, you two run into each other while stretching in the aisle.)

If you're bold, you might even strike up a conversation with this person... at the very least, a flirty hello.

The object of my affection wasn't a passenger... it was a flight attendant. Because, as we all know, most male flight attendants are gay and, when they work for Jet Blue, they're hot.

After waiting for what seemed like ever to board the plane, I tossed my bag into the overhead compartment, peeled off my sweater and plopped myself down into the aisle seat.

"You look like you need a drink," the A&F-looking, 20-something hottie working coach said and he walked by slamming the overhead compartments.

"Believe me, the second you guys start serving, I'm getting two," I said back.

"Here," he said, slipping me a couple bottles from his pocket. "Kick back."

Seriously? Hot and nice? Mile high club, here I come.

OK, I wasn't really going there. The thing about the mile-high club is people talk about it like it's all kinds of hot, but when you fly (or, rather, when I fly) I feel disgusting. Clammy, sweaty, my hair's a hot mess, sometimes my allergies make me sound like Fran Drescher. Not exactly the time you wanna do the deed with the totally hot flight attendant.

Still, he looked good -- and he handed out free booze, so I wasn't about to let the opportunity to get to know him better on the ground pass me by.

Later, as he passed through the aisle again, I did something I'd never, ever done. I slipped him my number on a napkin. I don't know. Maybe it was the three drinks (I ordered another later). Maybe it was the fact that Love Actually was playing on the plane.

"I'm flattered, but I have a girlfriend," he said quietly, but I still think the nosy lady pawing through a Danielle Steel novel across the aisle overheard.

Straight? Straight? What the fuck are the chances?

Later, when we landed and every one started getting off the plane, I saw him put his arm around an equally hot guy who'd been seated at the front of the plane.

So not straight.

I guess I was right about how I look on a plane.


  1. this story is hilarious. i've never sat next to a cute stranger on an airplane. that guy didn't know what he was missing!