Page 2 of Just Like You
WasI ready for this? Apparently so, as I swung my bag into the overhead locker and patted myself down. ID. iPad. Paperwork. Note from someone whose cousin’s dog walker’s hairdresser or something had asked for an upgrade. Wasn’t happening but I’d smile sweetly. I always did.
“The door on toilet D is fucked.” Someone shouted from behind me. “Also, first class is missing the hot custard, and the dolly up there is shouting at the catering guy.”
Here was the first batch of my many problems as I nodded and tried to wave down the engineer on duty who was trying to signal something to me from the top of the jetty. Now where the hell was the catering guy going?
Life. Work.
It was a lot. Add to that the constant jetlag and exhaustion, which was enough to drive someone mad. I was going to sleep for the entire eighteen hours in New York. The city that never slept; well, I didn’t care. I’d probably been there at least once a month for the past ten years, and to be very honest, I wouldn’t cry if I never saw it again. The traffic, the constant stench of weed in the streets, the overpriced eateries and the wailing sirens shattering the already deafening sounds of the city.
“Captain wants to see you.” Another crew member pushing past me and trying to relay information when I could barely remember my own name. Fourteen crew today, and I’d barely glanced at them in the briefing, rattling off my usual spiel of safety-related statements. All well-rehearsed, the same sentences coming out of my mouth, like I was a puppet in a play.
I felt off today, as I screenshot my on-board form and swiftly uploaded it only to realise that I… had indeed arrived at the aircraft a minute late. Not my fault, security had been rammed. But yeah, everything felt weird, like I hadn't quite woken up in the correct universe, because tardiness wasn't me, and I needed to catch up with myself. Not be that person who brought the crew down.
Whatever.
Work. It wasn’t going to get itself done, was it?
“Julian, the guy in 44J is really unhappy about his seat.”
Sure. I wouldn’t be happy either if I’d paid good money for that shoebox of a chair, but hey? Who was I to judge? I only worked here.
I nodded in acknowledgement to the girl whose name badge said Aurelia. Nice enough lady, been here a while, and I had flown with her before. She could probably deal with this herself, but she pointed at the passenger details on her work device and I grimaced. Okay, one of those kinds of passengers.
“Leave it with me,” I hissed, signalling to someone next to me to shut the door, as I gave the now incredibly overstressed dispatcher the thumbs up. I was gasping for a cup of tea, a sip of water, anything really, but no rest for the wicked. Perhaps I should have got up earlier and not slept in until the very last minute, and maybe I shouldn’t have road-raged my way up the dual carriage way towards Heathrow Airport. I should most probably finally grow up and actually get into nutrition and exercise or something like that in the mornings. Yes, I agreed with myself, even though right now I really wanted a sit-down and put my feet up, but that was not the way we worked here, hence down towards the back of the plane I went.
“Mr Andrieu,” I said, plastering my most empathetic smile on my face.
Kieron Andrieu, I read straight from the passenger list in my hand. Diamond club card holder. We had too many of those; every single one of them thinking they were God’s gift to my particular airline of employment. Truth was, they were, even I was well aware of how much money these humans brought to the business, and Mr Andrieu here must be over six feet tall, squashed into a middle seat in economy, wearing a very…fine suit that stretched alarmingly over his impressive chest.
Then he looked up at me, and… Yes. A delightful specimen of a man indeed. I didn’t usually let these things affect me, but…
Ice-blue eyes. Dark hair flung over his forehead, cheekbones to die for and an alarming amount of neat stubble on his perfectly groomed chin.
I was tired, and perhaps I was a little overly emotional as such, but he looked so uncomfortable and squashed, and yes. I did feel for him. I’d spent many hours sat on planes, just like this, and I wasn’t even six foot tall. Julian Bradley was a scrawny little thing, and even in my thirties, where I’d once been a cute little twink, I no longer was. These days I was a pathetic and desperate man whose once youthful looks were fading fast. That was the honest truth.
Not that I had the time to reflect over my lack of appeal, standing here staring at a man who had…inadvertently ended up in a seat not built to accommodate him. Instead, I was rather awkwardly staring at my passenger list, noting the evidence that was clearly there.
Mr Kieron Andrieu, this very… large and squashed… Diamond club card holder, had today somehow drawn the unlucky number and some numpty at check-in had downgraded him. Which nobody had cared to inform me of before boarding so I could have sorted that massive overstep and swapped his seat with whoever had paid the least in our business class section…which was what Mr Andrieu had paid handsomely for.
Also, he was clearly grumpy, gritting his teeth as I tried to clear my throat.
“Mr Andrieu, I am so, so sorry.”
“Don’t bother,” he hissed, not even looking at me. “If you can’t fix this, I really don’t want to hear your excuses.”
Ah. So that kind of man. Still, he looked up at me and…
Handsome, yet so angry. And yes, I was no doubt hallucinating with this week’s accumulated tiredness, because he huffed again and crossed his arms tighter. “I paid more than your monthly wage for this flight.”
“I am well aware of that,” I answered back. Well, he had no idea what kind of money I made, but I was excruciatingly aware of our overinflated business class fares, and after all these years dabbling in the art of customer service, I knew better than to get involved in long discussions about things I couldn’t fix.
“I am, and I say it again, extremely sorry about all of this. We are completely, fully booked today, and I unfortunately have no other seat to offer you. I can, though, offer you a compliment—”
He held his hand up in my face.
“Spare me the spiel, Julian.”
Yeah. I had my name on my name badge right there on my chest, but I didn’t like the way he spat my name out.
