So, I Promise Nobody on This Side of the Airplane is going to Have Sex Tonight.

The Traveler: 

Strangely I don’t really know where I am… I’m so spent from a long Euro tour, something like London, Amsterdam, Brussels, Luxembourg, Helsinki, Paris… and then I forget.  I do know that this boarding pass in my hand says: DFW and that’s a good thing. I’m boarding business class on an AA 777 and that too is a good thing. And I have 10 hours of peace, quiet, and not being on stage, and nobody asking me question… and that is an Amazing thing.

I look forward to long airplane rides for the peace they bring me.

Anyway, talking on the phone with the Orangutan as I board the airplane someone says loud enough for her to hear: “I like your jeans”. I nod and say thanks… I don’t look around. I’m frankly sorta flummoxed by this, even being ‘The Ho Whisperer’, I’m wretchedly inept at picking up when girls are hitting on me.

The Orangutan thinks this is amazingly funny. She gets all breathless, “Oh… I like your Jeans…” and rolls laughing.

“Dude…” I try to explain, but I’m way too tired.

“Those jeans do make your package look amazing”. She said.

“Thanks.” I said, still… I’m totally out of words. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do in this situation. There wasn’t a primer for it in kindergarten.

“So, I know you gotta run… but can you do me a favor?” She asks.

“Sure.” I say.

“If it’s at all possible, can you avoid having sex with anyone on the flight home?”  She asks snarky.

I consider her request for a long moment. “Sure, I guess so, if it means that much to you…”

We say our good byes, hang up.

I get to my seat.

In the seat next to me, is this amazingly hot, 20 something red hair’d girl, who apparently likes my jeans a whole lot. 

I smile. She smiles. She must have designed the jeans or something because, seriously, I’m old enough to be the younger guy her mom is dating.

I sit.

She smiles, again.

Getting myself situated, she looks me dead in the eye and says deadpan: “Do you want to be on top or bottom?”

I am, at this point, totally out of my element.

Now lets be clear. I’m reasonably good looking. I’m reasonably fit for a man my age. I’m in a job that puts me on stage, I am what someone might call charismatic. And those skills have come in useful a few times with the opposite sex… but I am simply not so good looking, fit, or rich enough to get this aggressively hit-on without having said a word yet.

Now, I’m sure some of you are thinking I need to be reaching for the brass ring with both hands here, but seriously guys, I’m going to be sitting next to this girl for the next 10 hours. This situation could easily turn into the worst first date ever, with no possibility of escape.

While I’m busying myself trying to think of something suitably charming to say, she points at the cubbies between out seat. The cubbies hold the vanity kits American is kind enough to supply to business class passengers, they are situated one on top of the other. 

Oh. I smile and nod. I get it. The clever-cute-tease. I got your number baby. I figured out how to deal with that well before you were born, I think.

“Doesn’t really matter to me.” I say flatly. Hoping to shut this down. Now, I could try and see how far I could push this thing, just for it’s entertainment value, see exactly what she’d be willing to do in an 777 forward lav, and pull the plug at the last minute. But guys, I’ve got a perfectly nice Orangutan waiting for me at home who wouldn’t appreciate even a ‘harmless’ tease game, and more than that, I am fucking tired.

“I prefer to be on top”. She says.

Of course you do, I think. I shrug. “Go for it,” I say.

She looks at me like 10 minutes after the lights go down she intends to do just that.

I pull out my hot-girl-canceling-headphones, plug in my iPod, put on my sunglasses, and surrender to the Acid Jazz.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sorta shrug, like: fuck you then. And start to play Teris on the inflight entertainment console.

That being exactly the response I was looking for. I can almost feel Mother Earth’s “Jesse” start to pull me away into a preflight nap.

“Hey Cole!” I am jostled. A couple of late arrivals are trying to man handle their plethora of trinkets and knickknacks into the overhead.  It is a couple, dad in his fifties, and step mom about my age. Hot red-haired girl is theirs.

Dad is talking three notches too loud, right through me to his daughter. I pull off my shades.

Dad locks eyes with me. He absolutely does not like what he sees. 

I try to smile and put my shades back on.

“Hey Cole,” He shouts as if in an especially loud nightclub. “Do you wanna switch seats with me?”

Please, Cole, for the sake of my tired old bones. I implore quietly. 

“Nope. I’m good.” She says, smiling at dad, and then at me.

My tired head lolls to the side, to see dad’s reaction. That was not the answer he wanted. He looks at me for a long moment.

He considers asking me if I’ll switch with him, but before the words leave his lips, he looks over at reasonably hot step mom, and he realizes that no matter what, this dude in these amazing jeans will be sitting next to at least one of his females.

He hates that fact, and his hatred for me is palpable. 

For a moment, I can tell he’s thinking about asking me to switch with reasonably hot step mom, and move from my isle seat to the only damn middle seat in business class.

Sunglasses off. I look at him coldly, like: Are you motherfucking crazy?

He is caught between a rock and a hard place, and succumbs to his fate.

But he does not go quietly.

Sunglasses back on. Preflight Champaign in each hand, Mother Earth on the iPod, I lean back.

“Hey Cole! Did you see the pictures your mom took.” He shouts past me

“She’s not my mom.” Cole says to me only.

A few moments later, as my body is on the verge of surrender.

“Hey Cole! Did you see the crystal statue your mom got at that shop.”

She doesn’t respond or if she does, I don’t catch it.

Two minutes later, “Hey Cole! They have salmon on the menu tonight.”

They always have salmon on the menu, tourist.

“Hey Cole! Did you see anything you wanted on the inflight duty free?”

This is clearly a chimpanzee territorial display. And I try to suck it up, because Dad is just engaging in a biological response to an obvious predator in the company of one of his females. It's rude, yes, but also a biological imperative, so he treads the line of my finely tuned since of politeness. 

But. It. Keeps. Going On.

The plane takes off, he just gets louder. I get it dude. She is Your female. I’m just trying to sleep here.

He. Will. Not. Stop.  

Every single sentence starts with, “Hey Cole!” If I hear that one more time, I will lose my fucking mind.

“Hey Cole! Did you—“

I sit up so rapidly, it actually interrupts him. Sunglasses off. 

I twist in my seat aggressively.

I look him dead in the eye.

“Hey Cole’s Dad!” I shout. Now everyone is looking, Great. The flight attendant’s ears perk up, on full terrorist incident alert. Maybe I said that a bit too loud.

“Listen, I understand my sitting next to your daughter makes you uncomfortable. But how about we make a deal… What if I PROMISE that no one on this side of the airplane will be having sex tonight. Not just on the airplane, but even after they get home. No Sex, I absolutely promise. I’ll make it my personal mission to enforce that. Okay? So could you please, please, dial it down so I can sleep?”

In a moment of emotional honesty he doesn’t even look apologetic. He looks at me like, ‘That sounds like a fair deal, partner.’ And turns back to his book.

And shuts the fuck up.

Cole, does her damnedest to turn herself invisible under a pile of pillows and covers.

Thank god.

The Alert flight attendant, stops by a few moments later, she presses an unordered Vodka Rocks in my hand, leans down and whispers, "Those are great jeans."

Afterward:

At about 1 hour to landing, Cole and Cole’s dad switch places. She’s sick or sexually frustrated or something. I really don’t care. He feels the need to address our “incident.”  He hems and haws, trying to figure out some way to start the conversation.

“She’s gotten motion sick.” He says.

“Listen, “ I say. “I have a daughter. I get it. But seriously. I kept my end of the deal, Nobody got laid last night, so no talking, okay?”