Love at First Flight: The fake-dating romantic comedy to fly away with

Chapter 3

One month passed by quickly, as months tend to do when you're older. Not that the nature of time has changed – that would be physically impossible – but rather your perception of time has changed. As I've gotten older, I've felt that days have gotten shorter and weeks and years even more so. When you were younger, an hour, especially if you were bored, dragged on like a never-ending day.

I left my shift the Friday morning of the school reunion and headed over to change in the business-class lounge. Another perk of half living at an airport: the receptionists in the lounges let you use the plush changing rooms and bathrooms to freshen up, when they aren't too busy, of course.

The name of the receptionist at Middle East Air's business-class lounge was Blessing. International tourists are always fascinated by his name, even though names like Blessing, Patience, Evidence and Fortune are commonplace here. Blessing always tried to strike up a conversation with me whenever I came in. I was always relieved, though, when his idea of a conversation was a one-way monologue in which he gossiped in hushed tones about the goings-on of the air- port. The airport really was its own unique ecosystem. Like a small city that has been shut off from the rest of the world, inhabited by an endless variety of people, from shop owners to security to cleaning staff to management staff, pilots, air traffic controllers and police. Personally, I've only gotten to know a few people over the last two

years but, for some reason, Blessing seems to have fully immersed himself in the airport ecosystem.

'Soooo.' He leaned over the desk and looked at me. I'd learned that this long and protracted 'sooo' was a sign that the gossip was about to commence. I was pleased that it was such a distinctive- sounding word, with such a distinctive tone and delivery; it made it much easier for me to read. I readied myself.

'Did you hear about the woman that gave birth to a baby midair last week?'

'Yes.' I nodded triumphantly. This I did know. I never knew any- thing he talked about, but this I knew, because Barry, a fellow ATC, had dealt with the emergency.

'She named the baby after the pilot – how sweet is that?' Bless- ing placed a hand on his chest and swooned. I hadn't realized he was so enamored with babies. Well, to be fair, I'd observed that most people had a fondness for babies and that when they spoke about them their voices usually took on a soft, sing-song quality and their pupils dilated somewhat. I did not harbor those same feelings about babies.

'I'm sure the flight attendant actually did more to ensure that baby's safe entry into the world. They are, after all, trained in basic first aid, including infant delivery, should the need arise,' I said. It was a very logical conclusion. The pilot would have been flying the plane, not attending to the baby. Blessing looked deflated for a moment and I realized the error of my ways. I went on, 'But I'm sure he landed that plane as quickly as possible and he would have radi- oed ahead for medical assistance.'

My response perked Blessing up again, and he continued. 'Did you hear about Louise at the coffee shop?'
'Which coffee shop?' There were twenty here.
'The Grind.'

'Aaaah, yes, next to Domestic Arrivals.' I knew it, even though it wasn't my coffee shop of choice, Express Espresso.

'Anywaaaaay' – another lengthened vowel sound – 'she's having a secret tryst with that waiter from the steak place at the international terminal.'

'Which steak place?'
'A Cut Above.'
I shook my head. A Cut Above. Another play on words. I'd noticed

that this was an incredibly popular device when it came to the naming of restaurants, coffee shops, retail facilities and advertizing agencies. I disliked names like these. I was also not a fan of restaur- ants called things like 'The Blue Olive' or 'The Singing Avocado'. Because, clearly, olives are not blue and avocados do not sing.