You're a Virgin?
That's not What I said!
I was at a dinner party with a few people who fly frequently and drink even more often. Earlier in the day I had received CNN’s Journalist Alert: Have you witnessed -- or been involved in -- an incident with a drunk passenger on board a plane, or someone who got overserved by a flight attendant?
I was surprised when a young, very attractive, Canadian / Persian lady said, “Yes, I had such an experience.” This is her story. With traveling and jetlag I didn't get it to CNN before their deadline, so I use it here:
"As I fly frequently, always in economy, I was over the moon when I got bumped to First-Class. I couldn’t believe it! The lovely stewardess showed me to my seat and asked if I would like a glass of champagne. Normally, I do not drink, but who could resist a glass of bubbly?
I stowed my carry-on and then explored my First-Class surroundings. Such space! I stretched out as far as I could, I read the menu. I checked out the selection of movies. I enjoyed the peace and quiet. So wonderful to not be jammed in the middle seat. The crying babies could not be heard. I had the blanket handy for when I was going to sleep. This was going to be the best 12 hours I’ve ever spent in the air.
The stewardess brought me the glass of champagne. I took a sip, savouring the bubbles.
I didn’t need to wait long before my travelling companion poured himself into the adjacent seat. A big, middle-aged Russian. He hardly looked at me as he lugubriously, resigned, repeating a well-known routine, set his bulk in the seat that narrowly contained his mass. But he wasn’t in First-Class just for the space. The first glass of vodka landed almost at the same time he did.
He had three more before we taxied to the end of the runway and service was cut off.
I had barely touched my drink and the Stewardess smiled at me as she removed my glass.
When the fasten seat belt sign had been turned off the Stewardess quickly returned with another shot of vodka – which he made short work of. “Would you like another?” She asked me.
“Thank you. I’m quite okay,” I smiled back at her.
The Russian grunted. He finally took some interest in me. His eyebrows raised. The vodka starting to work. “Humm. Quite okay,” a heavy grin wrinkled his grim face. “Yes, quite okay.”
I turned on the overhead light and picked up the book I was reading. He was not going to be fun.
“Excuse me, if I may interrupt your reading?”
I lowered my book and looked at him.
“May I ask, where are you from?”
“I am Canadian.”
“Canadian,” he nodded. “The most beautiful girls are from Vancouver.”
“I am not.”
Another vodka shot was fired.
“From where?”
“From Victoria.”
“Victoria. Very beautiful. Very beautiful,” his knowing smile was not yet lascivious.
I did not need a DMD to know what he was thinking.
“But you are not Canadian.”
I was offended. “Yes I am.”
“But you, your parents, from somewhere else?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
I wasn’t sure if he was getting annoyed at my reticence or finding me more intriguing. Maybe I found out.
“I am Persian.”
Confusion crept across his face. “You are virgin?”
I was shocked. “No. I am Persian.”
“Virgin?”
Exasperated I turned to my book.
He stared at his vodka. Then a slow, very lascivious leer pushed back his heavy cheeks. “Why you tell me this?”
“Because I am from Persia!” I pronounced it very carefully.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I am lucky.”
“No, you are an idiot.” My friendly stewardess set two more glasses in front of him. Then she looked at me, “Your seat is now ready. I am sorry it took so long, please follow me.”
At first I was confused, then I realized she had overheard the conversation.
“No. No,” he spluttered. “Why she have to move? She is fine here. We have drinks. We have talk.”
“Her seat is now ready,” she smiled sweetly at both of us.
He was clearly upset, but there was nothing he could do.
I gathered my things and followed the Stewardess to my quitter space and enjoyed the rest of the flight - in a much better seat in First Class.
