The other morning I went out to my old car and finally got the engine to turn over. Once it did, I swished the wiper-blades a couple of runs to clear the night’s dew from the windshield. Only it wasn’t dew. It was ice. In L.A. Wha??? It reminded me of an old flight attendant story…

 

I was deadheading from Dallas to Atlanta. (Deadheading is when a flight attendant simply flies from one city to another, and doesn’t actually work the flight. A seat is taken, but the flight attendant just stays put, while the rest of the crew works. The purpose is to either get a flight attendant back to home base, or to get said flight attendant to another city to work from that airport.) It was a full flight, but I was only authorized to deadhead and not to help, so I sat and read. I was seated next to a funny looking guy. His hair was all slanty and his eyebrows were trimmed in a strange way. His appearance didn’t mean anything to me, but I did take note of his actions: he had a spiral notebook and several magic markers, all in different colors, and he kept drawing the same two words over and over again – in big, puffy cloud letters. He colored in the letters, then flipped the page and began anew. I thought he must’ve been, well, “special.”

 

About an hour into the flight, I noticed a couple of dudes kept walking up and down the aisle. It appeared their only mission was to be seen. They were wearing backstage passes around their necks. On a plane. Not backstage. Seriously, they were all about attention. After they’d passed me four times or so, I threw some attention their way. I stopped one of the guys and said, “Hey! Who are you with anyway?” The dude looked at me and said in a rather snotty manner, “The artist is Vanilla Ice.”

 

Now y’all, I was in uniform. I had to be on my best behavior, or I would’ve gotten in some sort of trouble. That’s the way it was. I knew that. I did. And yet the words escaped my mouth before I could stop myself. I turned to the guy in the seat beside me and said, “Are you the guy who ripped off that David Bowie and Queen song?”

 

He glared at me and probably wanted to slug me. He didn’t say a word, however. He simply flipped a page in his notebook, chose a fresh new magic marker color, and again started drawing his puffy-cloud-lettered words: “Vanilla Ice.” I went back to reading my book and not another word was exchanged between us. When we landed, I stepped out of the way so that all the paying passengers could exit before me.

 

I’m not gonna lie to you – when I look back on that flight and my blatant question, it’s one of the proudest moments of my life.

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