Flight 54

Where the denizens of the delayed  dine, God-only-knows.  God and me. Five
hundred and seventy two miles from my baggage claim, there is a bar.  The 
waitress there  is cardable, flaunting too flimsy a skirt.  If I were her father, I’d 
tell her to quit with this self-exploitation bit, but I’m not.  I look her only in the 
eyes and order beer from Texas.  She says that it drinks drier than Lubbock; I 
nod and laugh knowingly, as if i know anything about Lubbock. My uncle was 
once a paper salesmen in Lubbock.  There’s that, at least.

Ignoring the assemblage of Flight 54 passengers, I find free wifi. Cassie
shares photos of the world’s largest Amaco sign.  It is red.  Kevin’s sermon
notes, or as much as will fit into one hundred and forty characters, are posted
precariously above Ashely’s galvanized slide of pipe dreams. Her daughter is
smiling and I find myself hoping that she’ll never don the dress of self-
exploitation.  If she does, there’ll still be grace because Ashley’s good at 
second chances.  Lord willing, little girls make good on first chances, though.

A woman approaches the manager. She’s been delayed and, for the love of 
God could she get some service? She’s neither invoking love nor God with that 
kind of venom, and when the manager offers her an apology for the delay, she 
leans in, tells him too loudly that she is civil rights officer as if that is supposed 
to make him set some queso on fire.  He apologizes as much for being white as 
anything, and gives her a complimentary breaded onion.  This appeases her for 
the moment, but moments fly fast.

A congregant in the house of the delayed, I sit in South Texas.
All the while, I am omnipresent.

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6 Responses to Flight 54

  1. pastordt says:

    Indeed, you are. Such astute observations.

  2. Kathy says:

    Oh the pictures you write with your words. We sit there with you. In South Texas. And wish for young women to refrain from wearing dresses of self-exploitation and civil rights officers to find gratitude amongst the aches of the day. May you understand your purpose for sitting in the house of the delayed. Or at minimum, feel peace from knowing that He who moves the wings through the sky knows your purpose. May that be enough.

  3. Ann Kroeker says:

    A complimentary breaded onion, eh?

    And it is strange, to be here and there and with him and her and them all at the same time. What a world…what a strange, wonderful world.

    • sethhaines says:

      I’ve said it a lot… We’re all alone together. That, an to echo a favorite of our, “nobody tells you when you get born here how much you’ll come to love it but how you’ll never belong…”

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