FLYING FRIDAYS

FLYING FRIDAYS

FLYING FRIDAYS

“He tried to assassinate the president of I-I-I?”

I sounded like a stuttering idiot, saying it that way. No wonder they always said Triple I.

“The President of the United States,” Sal corrected me.

“The PRESIDENT, President?” More stuttering. So much for impressing these people. “I don’t remember hearing anything about an assassination attempt.”

“You didn’t need to know.” This came from Max. Big surprise.

~ ALLERGIES OVER THE ATLANTIC ~


FLYING FRIDAYS

“This is our tool room,” the Colonel’s voice, though still hushed, seemed to resonate off of the walls.

Tool room? This place looked more like a giant closet for a billionaire with a drawer fetish.

~ ALLERGIES OVER THE ATLANTIC ~


FLYING FRIDAYS

    “Six days in a ROW?” I squeaked. I’d been able to stick it out as a flight attendant this long because of the days off. I could feel my throat constricting. I wouldn’t be able to do this. Not even for my country.

~ ALLERGIES OVER THE ATLANTIC ~


FLYING FRIDAYS

Again, I imagined myself as a super- spy dressed in black, sitting in first class, watching for bad guys. Good thing ninety-percent of my clothes were black.

~ ALLERGIES OVER THE ATLANTIC ~


FLYING FRIDAYS

I scooted back in my chair, lifting my chin defiantly. “Fido is cuter than most men.”

“Fido is a fish, for God’s sake!”

~ ALLERGIES OVER THE ATLANTIC ~


FLYING FRIDAYS

After flying thirty-plus years as a flight attendant, Flo couldn’t care less about moving fast or job efficiency. No wonder her nickname around the airline was Slow Flo. 

~ ALLERGIES OVER THE ATLANTIC ~

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