“I’m going to need all the luck I can get,” Dee lamented as she dabbed the napkin against her stained shirt. “I still have to catch my plane.”
She counted thirty people standing in the TSA queue in front of her. She checked her pink swatch; it was 7:35am and the plane departed at 8am. She realized it was going to be too close for comfort.
Dee watched an obese TSA officer slowly amble to the front of the long line. The man was bulging from his uniform as he reached to pull the line divider strap across to where Dee stood, altering the TSA route. He then motioned for Dee to follow him the other direction. He turned to the people behind her and told them to form a new line behind Dee.
“You get to be at the head of the line,” the heavy breathing TSA agent informed her.
He licked his lips the full-monty, with his creepy mustache twisting to say, “It’s your lucky day.” The fat agent checked to see if the name on her ticket matched her ID, passing her through. She took off her shoes, belt, and jacket, putting them into the tray next to her purse. Then she proceeded through the body scanner X-ray machine. Raising her hands into the air and out to the sides of her head, then turning around to make eye contact with the next official manning the scanner exit.
“Please step out from the scanner and stand in front of me,” the TSA agent promptly demanded.
A woman officer in a navy uniform walked towards them snapping on her blue rubber gloves. She explained to Dee that she was going to perform a body check.
“Would you prefer a private room?” The woman asked the disheveled Dee.
Dee shook her head back and forth, signaling no nervously.
The female officer rubbed her gloved hands up the inside of her thighs, patted her buttocks, pushing up to the armpits to trace Dee’s breasts with her plastic palm. The stranger finished off with a nod of approval. Dee took off running in her untied shoes, her belt in one hand, straight for the departure gate, just as she heard the last call for those boarding Flight 982, traveling from Las Vegas to Miami.
“What is your name?” The frizzy haired old woman asked Dee. “You can call me Aunt June and this is Buster, we are pleased to meet you. Tell her ‘Hi’ Buster.”
The dog nodded its bowling ball head, as if he understood what she was saying, lifting one of his white paws to wave hello.
It certainly didn’t feel like lady luck had her back today. After the remaining passengers had been seated, Dee reached above her head and pressed the call button. Moments later an attractive Cuban flight attendant answered the lighted button by pushing it off.
“What can I do for you?” Asked the attendant as she leaned in towards Dee.
Carmen was printed on her nametag. Dee responded quietly to her inquiry, trying not to make a scene.
“Hi Carmen…um…I guess I have a problem,” Dee said half-heartedly.
She then pointed to the smiling silver dog across the aisle.
“I’m actually allergic to dogs.”
Carmen’s pseudo smile faded. The attendant looked to the big canine. The dog was also examining her with alert yellow eyes.
“Can I move you to the back of the plane ma'm?” Carmen coaxed Dee. “We have plenty of seating available far away from the dog.”
Dee could already feel the irritation building in her nose and elsewhere.
“I’m allergic, Carmen, from everywhere on the plane.”
Dee pointed at a married couple taking their seats a few rows towards the front. The man held a small carrier with yellow fluff busting out the round holes.
“And look at those people with their little dog!” Dee said a bit excitedly.
“Well I’m sorry I can’t ask them to leave the plane as they are paying customers too.”
Dee knew not to make an issue of it. The big dog wasn’t paying for his flight. The YouTube video with the Asian doctor being dragged off the plane by security, with blood dripping from his face, came to mind. She bent over to pick up her tote.
Carmen stood with her back straight, adjusting her uniform sweater vest.
“I have no doubt that we can get you on the next plane leaving Las Vegas. How about we collect your belongings and walk you to customer service to take care of this unfortunate situation.”
The old lady, Aunt June, gave Dee a sympathetic look when she stood up to gather the rest of her things. She had a pretty good book to read while she waited for the next flight to Miami. She started to look forward to getting a Grande coffee and maybe she could steal a power nap in one of those comfy Starbucks’ chairs she had spotted while rushing to her flight.
The flight attendant followed her down the aisle.
“If you’re lucky you might even get an upgrade for your trouble, Miss Winn.”
Several rows ahead she nearly stepped on a small toy airplane discarded on the aisle floor. Dee bent to pick up the plastic miniature. As she stood, she locked eyes with a beautiful little boy, freckles scattered across his button nose. The child wore a long sleeved striped red and blue shirt that matched the airplane she held in her hand.
“Is this yours?” Dee asked him, holding out the model airplane on her open palm.
The child smiled brightly reaching to grasp the toy with his dimpled fingers.
“Fanks wady,” he spat through his gapped smile. “It’s my wucky day.”
12 Carmen Fuentes
Carmen had worked with her friend Nicco many times with both flight attendants claiming Miami as their home base. They lived in South Beach only a few blocks from one another. It was a twenty-minute walk to the beach; with sidewalk patio restaurants, pastel painted boutique shops, art deco hotels, and palm trees pulsating with the sweet Latin music that burst from flashy convertibles.
Carmen rarely joined him for his weekend romps at the clubs, instead she chose to live vicariously through his outrageous post-party stories.
Nicco was scurrying about the service area at the front of the plane, holding a pen in one hand, as he marked items off the departure checklist. Carmen continued to greet the final passengers boarding the airplane, welcoming them to the friendly skies with her captivating smile and mascara brushed, twinkling gray eyes.
A frail thin man stepped over the threshold, entering the plane holding a dog carrier. Yellow fur was popping out the holes of the crate. When he smiled, she unconsciously recoiled from the shock at seeing the right side of his face was missing. Behind him a lovely, petite woman, dressed in a buttoned periwinkle shirt and matching capris, pulled a robin’s egg hued piece of luggage behind her. Carmen recovered quickly from her initial response to the man and then overcompensated by shining even brighter. She quickly darted her eyes from his deformed face to focus on the feather light woman in blue.
“Welcome to Freedom Airlines, can I help you find your seats?”
“We’re in row 12B and C,” the bird-like woman chirped. “I think we can find it.”
“Ma'am…eh…sir,” Carmen mumbled while holding her smile firm. “The plane is only half full, so the window seat in your row is available, please make yourselves comfortable.”
After the couple was directed to their seats, she helped the last two people to board, a young teenage girl and her father, by showing them their assigned seats at the front of coach. Then she returned to help Nicco restock the remaining essentials: napkins, straws, juice, and pretzel packs, before they secured everything for take-off.
“Girl, I’m so happy we’re working together,” Nicco squealed and clapped his hands together. “We’re going to have some fun today! Did you see who was in first class? Oh my God. The one and only Senator Young...is...on...this flight.”
Carmen raised her groomed eyebrows.
“Senator?”
“Oh, Carmen, come on honey. You don’t know who he is? Oh well. It’s best you don’t care about it all anyway. It would just put your panties in a wad—he has mine. We won’t have to deal with him since we’re working economy, anyways.”
Carmen hated politics.
“Move on, Nicco,” she whispered under her breath.
“Do you want me to do the safety announcement?” Nicco asked her as they walked down the aisle towards the back of the plane. Both flight attendants began closing the storage compartments and checking that passengers had placed their baggage correctly under the seats in front of them.
“You know...the passengers would prefer YOU give them the safety show!” He buttered her.
Carmen plucked the yellow demo bag from the upper compartment at the back of the plane. She puckered her lips with her freshly applied red lipstick, posing like it was a glamour shot, giving Nicco a sultry look, sticking her small, curved hip out to the side, with her hands on her waist.
“Show time!” She winked.
“Girl…with you it's always magic!”
Carmen heard the bing of the call light; it looked to be row 14D. She walked fixedly towards a flustered messy haired woman who had pressed the button. The woman explained how she had a dog allergy and pointed out the Pitbull next to her and then pointed at the Pomeranian several rows up. Carmen could tell the young woman knew the airline rules about individuals suffering from allergies.
“You should have called the airline to confirm that no dogs were on the flight,” she informed the woman.
Then offered her a different seat away from the animals. The frazzled woman vehemently refused.
“Ma'am,” Carmen started.
“My name is Dee Winn. I didn’t know I was supposed to call ahead.”
Carmen cleared her throat and began again.
“The airline allows for two pets in first class, two in business, and four in the main cabin. However, both dogs you have pointed out are service animals. By law we must accommodate them at no charge. There is no limit on the number of service animals aboard the aircraft,” Carmen explained to the woman. “I’m sorry there is nothing I can do for you. Let’s see if we can get you on the next flight.”
Carmen helped gather Miss Winn’s bag to further assist her off the plane. In doing so, she turned to the frizzy haired Aunt June and the big dog, Buster, sitting across the aisle and gave them a sympathetic look.
Carmen never really liked dogs. She was more of a cat person.
“Cats are as smart as dogs,” her veterinarian had informed her. “It’s a fact.”
She assumed the negative opinion of dogs was acquired when she was ten years old, from her father’s brother, Uncle Silvio. She remembered his skinny figure standing in cut-off jeans, with grease stained fingers wrapped around a Natural Ice beer can. He was always griping in Spanish about the stray dogs running around the Little Havana neighborhood; getting into the trash, menacing the children, and fighting with each other.
“Los perros están corriendo por las calles,” he would grumble to anyone who would listen to his slang-filled Spanish. “Los perros estarán muertos para mañana!”
He made a slicing motion across his neck when he made the decision to kill the dogs.
She didn’t like the menacing dogs running the streets either. They encroached on her ability to play outside. She was too afraid to walk to her friend Mabel’s house around the corner because of the free roaming animals. Uncle Silvio decided the best way to remedy the stray dog population was by poisoning the free dogs, along with any owned dogs that got in the way that night.
He went to the Winn Dixie grocery store and purchased a discounted package of rib-eye steaks from the meat department. He took the raw steaks to his shed at the back of the property; where he kept his MAC tools, fishing equipment, tarps, all his car parts, oil, lubes, antifreeze and pesticides. Her uncle chopped the steaks into large pieces, drenching them in Malathion, a pesticide that kills insects by preventing their nervous system from working properly. He spread the chunks of poisoned meat throughout the neighborhood. Some pieces he placed near the garbage bins the dogs frequented. He doled out the scraps in the alleyways behind restaurants and businesses. He set several tainted portions around the perimeter of the Fuentes’ residence.
The next day havoc erupted in the community. Dead dogs lay indisposed in the hibiscus bushes, near the dumpsters, and sprawled on the cracked sidewalks leading to people’s homes. Some dogs were foaming from their mouths, struggling to kick their nerve damaged paws. One of the ill-fated dogs that suffered through the night was Carmen’s friend Mabel’s Labrador-mix, Fido. Mabel cried to her about the loss of her furry companion over the phone the next day.
“I let him out, Carmen,” Mabel blamed herself, blubbering over her own words. “The back gate was open… he was scratching at the door like someone was out back and he like wanted to check it out. I just let him out. He ate the poisoned meat…that someone left outside to murder him with!”
Carmen cringed while holding back the family secret from her friend.
A freaky fate later met her Uncle Silvio; she believed it was bad karma created from the dog killings. Her uncle Silvio had invited his best drinking buddy to the shed at the back of the property. He wanted to share in libation with a batch of his homemade wine. The bottles weren’t labeled. A prior day while drunk, her Uncle Silvio had consolidated the concentrated Malathion poison into an identical bottle to the bottles of wine. Without realizing it he grabbed the wrong container.
“I think it went bad Silvio...it tastes like shit!” Uncle Silvio’s friend spit out the nasty tasting liquid.
Uncle Silvio wasn’t having it. He had worked hard making the wine and was insulted by his friend’s negative response. He took a big swig from the bottle, guzzling down the foul-tasting drink, too proud to admit the wine tasted off. His friend decided to head home after drinking the questionable beverage.
“Hasta la vista, Silvio.”
He loaded into his rusted Ford pickup truck and drove about a mile before he felt nauseated and began vomiting. Causing the pickup truck to veer off the road going thirty miles per hour, hitting a palm tree. Steam pouring from the collapsed engine. When the paramedics pulled Silvio’s friend from the vehicle, he had begun to suffer muscle tremors, cramps, shortness of breath, a slowed heart rate, headache, abdominal pain and diarrhea. The Malathion had traveled to his liver and kidneys affecting his nervous system. Vomit covered the front of his shirt as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Uncle Silvio’s friend later woke in the ICU, immediately bombarded with questions from the doctors.
“Are you suicidal? What did you eat? Where were you coming from? Was there anyone else who ingested the poison?”
His friend explained that it was Uncle Silvio who had given him the tainted wine before he had crashed his truck into the palm tree. The police rushed to Carmen’s family’s pastel green home. Carmen watched from her bedroom window as the uniformed officers headed directly to the shed in the backyard. They found Uncle Silvio sprawled out on the dirt floor as dead as the dogs he had killed.
The big silver Pitbull seemed like he was a nice enough animal, Carmen figured. He was wearing an official looking red vest.
She had heard passengers exclaiming to its owner, Aunt June, “Your dog is so cute and well behaved!”
The fuzzy little yapper Pomeranian was another story. People would complain during the flight about its incessant barking, no doubt.
A BARKING DOG SELDOM BITES
13 Ezra Barkley
When Ezra and her daddy stepped past the first-class separation wall upon boarding, she spotted the ferocious looking gray dog, sitting seven rows behind her. It was too close. She felt the comforting weight of her daddy’s warm hands placed on her shoulders. He squeezed, clutching the right shoulder a little tighter, directing her to their assigned seats at the front of coach.
She had been so concerned about the massive dog upon entering the economy section, she hardly noticed the man with a silver ponytail walking only inches in front of her, before he suddenly twisted his body to the side, swinging around a dog crate he held in his right hand. In it, a feisty yellow mongrel growled. Surprised by the animal so close to her comfort zone, she took a st
ep back. The weight of her backpack pulled her off balance, causing her to fall against her daddy. Like a superhero he transformed instantly into a protective padded wall.
Grrrrrr…Yip…Yip…Yip. The kenneled Pomeranian was ferociously growling and barking at the shaken Ezra.
“Bruno. No barking,” the ponytailed man scolded the obnoxious mutt.
Ezra was so frightened she hardly noticed the man’s slurred speech impediment from a face deformity. The man looked back at the frightened girl being comforted by her father and awkwardly slurred an apology to them.
“Excuse my naughty dog. I’m sorry for that,” she thought he said.
The man maneuvered the dog crate in front of him, and then continued four rows back, before finding their seats.
“That dog is even closer than the big dog, daddy.”
Her daddy squeezed her shoulder again, guiding her to the middle seat in the first row. He nudged her to sit, following suit, plopping his hefty body into the aisle seat next to her. She was glad he didn’t respond to the deformed man with the dog. Her daddy was unfiltered and would say anything that came to mind. She loved his honesty and straightforwardness. Sometimes people took him the wrong way.
“Great leg room,” her daddy said, stretching his legs out.
Ezra looked it up online, she had cynophobia, a pathological fear of dogs.
This was her first time flying and she was terrified of being contained in the sealed, pill-shaped contraption, with metal wings, soaring thousands of feet above the earth—plus two dogs. Gulping, she couldn’t remember what they called a fear of flying.
The screens hanging from the bulkhead every four rows began to show a video with Freedom Airlines soaring eagle logo. Propaganda filled the screens, with attractive flight attendants and trustworthy pilots, welcoming people in front of the historical sites most representative of America; the screen showed the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, panning to a shot of waving uniformed workers in front of the Statue of Liberty in New York City. The promotional video was followed by the routine travel safety announcement.
Beware of Flight Attendant Page 8