by Joe Thomas
I’m not trying to brag, but my blowjobs might cause someone to kill a bitch.
Eventually Diego got the hint and we lost touch, even though we worked in the same hospital. My guess was he found himself another white guy to get him off. Most likely Ryan from the sleep lab; he looked like the biggest cocksucker at the hospital.
Managing to stay blowjob free at work was quite a challenge. I figured I licked that problem—licked it good. But I was wrong. Eventually, I fell off the wagon and landed head first onto a dick. Don’t worry, my mouth was wide open. Thank goodness, too. I firmly believe that’s what kept me from poking an eye out. It all started after reporting in Cleveland for an easy-looking four day trip. Those tend to be fun if you’re working with a good crew. If not, you find yourself spending 96 hours with shitty coworkers you’d wish were lost forever in the airport.
After spending a few minutes in the crew lounge, I quickly realized this trip sucked. It hadn’t even begun but the word sucked flashed in all caps in my mind. SUCKED! SUCKED! SUCKED! Now that I think about it, possibly a little foreshadowing on my part?
Was it too late to call in sick? I felt sick. Was it the oatmeal I shoved down my throat before leaving Evan’s house? No. It had to be Lori, the lead flight attendant. We met right away in the lounge and she instantly rubbed me the wrong way. Lori’s dirty blond hair was secured in a ponytail while she pranced around acting like a high school cheerleader. Sadly, Lori looked more like she was closer to pushing 70 than pushing a set of pom poms. Seventy years old and still searching for a decent night cream. She had more wrinkles than an angry Shar Pei. All she needed was a full can of spray starch and a hot iron. Problem solved.
I agree that I don’t get along with many people. I don’t deny it. It’s part of who I am but I try giving strangers the benefit of the doubt. Until I catch them lying to me during our first encounter, then I’m done. Seriously, you might as well just go home.
In a high pitched annoying voice she asked, “How long have you been here?”
“Almost five years.” I answered while pulling out my required flight attendant items.
“Oh. Me too.”
Interesting. Lori was unfamiliar to me. I’m notorious for not knowing many flight attendants in my base but generally you know the people in your seniority bracket. Or you’ve at least heard of them. I didn’t know her at all and trust me, you only had to meet Lori once to remember her. “Cool. So what class were you in?”
She told me and I made a face. I’m no mathematician but even I know when something doesn’t add up. I answered, “That doesn’t make sense. That’s only three years.”
“Five years. Three years. Is there really a difference?” She responded staring into a pocket mirror applying a dark red lipstick.
What the fuck? Did I hear that right? Yes, bitch. There’s a big fucking difference. That’s like walking around telling people you have an 800 credit score when you are barely pushing 500.
It got terribly worse once we got onto the airplane. Every time Lori spoke, I cringed like I did when my grandmother sent me off on Sunday mornings to confess my sins to Father Long. Father Long loved my sins. In all honestly, I think he just loved boys on their knees.
“Do you know James Johnson?” She asked while I checked the exit row for safety information cards, “He’s my boyfriend.”
“I don’t know him,” I answered then moved to the back galley to complete my security checks. I turned around and she was right behind me. Fuck. Because I’m a nice guy I continued questioning, “Does he work here?”
“Yes. He’s one of us. He’s on reserve in JFK. You’ll meet him tomorrow morning during our sit.”
I let her talk but in all honestly, I didn’t give a damn about her or her boyfriend. There was nothing about her that interested me. Our trip had barely started and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I spent six days in a car, driving cross-country with my cat screaming in my ear for hours and that seemed more peaceful than hanging out with this leather bag for four days.
The first day of our trip went quickly, which was fine by me. I literally threw myself off the shuttle and into the lobby of our layover hotel in Charlotte, North Carolina. No offense to my North Carolina readers but I never feel welcome in Charlotte, especially as a gay man. Usually when I am in that part of the country I spend most of my time hiding under the bed listening for the burning of torches, or Billy Graham supporters yelling, “That cocksucker is over here. He’s in room 3543.”
After collecting our room keys, the captain politely asked. “Are you gonna meet us down here for dinner?”
I declined and told him that I had to run to the store, call my husband (I whispered that part just in case Billy Graham was listening), and go to bed. Our van time the next morning was 4:15 a.m. and I needed my rest. I was exhausted from listening to Lori talk about her boyfriend all day.
The next morning the four of us met in the hotel lobby. 4:15 a.m. is a horrific time to be dressed and standing in a deserted hotel lobby waiting for the shuttle. It’s the worst van time when working with people you don’t like. Hell, I don’t enjoy seeing another human being that early even if I do like them. My feelings towards the captain and first officer were indifferent but the two of them seemed to be cheering for Team Lori and not Team Joe. That kept me clear from any serious conversations with the two of them.
They chatted like best friends during the ride to the airport while I bounced around with my head against the glass window. “Dinner was fantastic last night. You should have joined us, Joe,” she cheerfully stated while we all stepped into the airport.
“That’s nice. I was tired. But thanks for the invitation.” All lies. They could have chipped in and bought me a three-course meal and I’d have still been hiding under my bed waiting for Billy Graham to break in and cart me off to conversion camp.
Our first flight from Charlotte to JFK was uneventful. In JFK, we had an hour and a half sit before departing for Detroit. I was not looking forward to a 20-hour layover with these three but I had plans to keep myself preoccupied. Once we got to the gate and all the passengers deplaned, the four of us left the airplane to get breakfast. It was only 7:30 a.m. and I had yet to get any caffeine in my bloodstream. How I kept from killing the three of them on the hotel shuttle will always be a mystery to me.
Lori, Captain Brian, and First Office Connor stuck together like crazy glue. Actually, any glue became crazy once you added Lori to it. As we stepped out of the jet bridge and into the gate area, we were greeted by her boyfriend. What can I say about James? Enthusiastic. Flashy. Colorful. Flamboyant. You get what I’m hinting at here, right? James made queens voguing at a Madonna concert look tame.
I smiled, introduced myself, shook his hand, and walked away to the left while the four of them veered to the right of the airport. A toddler had a stronger handshake than this guy. Was his wrist broken? Let’s hope so because no adult straight man’s wrist should be that limp. The idea of keeping them company during our airport sit never crossed my mind. Being far away from them made me happy. Hiding my displeasure was impractical. Since meeting her, my face had become a Lori hostility billboard. After purchasing myself a cup of coffee, I sat down by the gate area tapping away at my iPad. A few moments later Connor approached me, “Hey. I’m going down to the airplane. You staying up here?”
“Yeah. I’m trying to post something on my blog and I can’t get on this fucking internet.”
He stood in front of me with the plastic container housing his breakfast, “Alright. Well take down my number. If you need me to come up and open the door, just text me.”
Grabbing my phone I typed in his number, “Okay, got it.” and went back to my iPad. I was so adamant about getting the article posted that breakfast slipped my mind. I had no luck. I gave up on trying to log onto the internet when I noticed the three of them were back on the airplane and the gate agent glared at me like I was delaying the entire flight.
While waiting for the hotel van in Detroit, Brian loo
ked over at me, “Are you gonna hang out with us today or hide in your room like last night?”
I laughed. “I don’t think catching up on sleep means I was hiding in my room.” I left out the part about Billy Graham and my distaste for Lori. “I’ll hang today. I’ve got some stuff to do downtown but we can meet up later.”
I lied. I refused to hang out with them the night before because I didn’t want to hang out with Lori. Her voice sent chills down my spine and I had to stop myself from punching her in the throat. But after spending a few hours that morning with Brian and Connor, I realized they were nice and if they made the effort to be nice to me, the right thing to do was throw them a bone.
After collecting our keys, we got onto the elevator and got off at our respective floors. Brian and Lori stepped off on the second floor and Connor and I rode the elevator to the third. We walked beside each other until I stopped at 304, “Ok. I’ll talk to you later.”
He kept walking and didn’t look back, “Alright. I’ll text you when we get downtown.”
I made it downtown by 11:30 a.m. After spending a few hours walking around, exploring, and taking pictures, I still hadn’t heard from Connor. I’d survive if he forgot to text me. Missing an afternoon listening to Lori talk about her boyfriend might save me an extra 45 seconds at the end of my life. She was that soul crushing.
I stopped in a mall to take a bathroom break. When it comes to shitting I have a three minute window. Once the countdown begins there are only two options: get on a toilet or get a new pair of underwear. I found the restroom, got comfortable on the toilet, and just as I was about to unleash the fury—my phone vibrated.
It was a text from Connor: “Hey Joe. It’s Connor. We just got downtown. Where u at?”
I couldn’t tell him I was in the middle of yelling at Jesus for allowing something that disgusting to come out of my body so I simply just typed: “At the mall. Tell me where you are. I’ll be there soon.”
After my bathroom escapade I walked about a mile until I met up with Brian and Connor at an Irish pub. They were both sitting outside and had just ordered beers. “Hey guys. Where’s Lori?” I asked pulling out a chair next to Brian and having a seat across from Connor.
“She’s shopping,” Connor answered while Brian tapped away at his cell phone. A sexy brunette waitress walked up to our table with a pen and pad in hand ready to write down our orders. Brian could barely pull himself away from his cell phone. I’d learn later that him and his wife were leaving for New Zealand the day after our trip was over and he was finalizing plans. Lucky him. When my time came, I ordered a double gin and tonic and started talking to Connor about my day out in the city.
Thirty minutes past before Lori showed up. It was a calm 30 minutes. The best 30 minutes of the entire trip. Her walking up to the outside seating area reminded me of the tornado that transported Dorothy to Oz. If only Lori got carried off somewhere else. Kansas City perhaps? Kansas City sounded perfect. I’d be so fucking lucky. Both her hands held onto large shopping bags, and with a flip of her wrist she tossed them across the table and pulled out a chair.
“Oh my God. It’s chilly out here. Are you guys cold?” She asked while putting down her bags and placing them on the ground between her and Connor. My inner voice screamed to get up and leave. Gulp down my drink, throw some money on the table, and hightail my ass out. But I stayed. The pilots had grown on me and I hated missing a fun opportunity because of some obnoxious female troll.
“I’m fine.” I answered looking across at Connor. Sadly, the guys were all too quick to please Lori.
“It’s alright,” Brian looked up from his cell phone, “but if you want to go inside we’ll go inside.” At the end of his sentence the waitress walked over with an additional menu and Brian asked, “Can we move inside? It’s getting cold out here.”
“I don’t think it’s cold,” I reinforced my opinion while collecting my utensils and gin and tonic. I followed behind them into the bar with a slight attitude. I continued acting like a spoiled brat. My desires never matter when there’s a vagina in the mix. The bitch with the vagina always gets what she wants. The fag with the dick plays second fiddle. Vag beats dick all the time.
During the next hour the four of us sat in a booth talking about everything under the sun. From past vacations and Auckland to Lori’s eye appointment and boyfriend. We were in dire need of a conversation reboot. Connor saved the mood by moving the discussion away from Lori’s medical problems and towards something way more entertaining: Urban Dictionary.
Taking a sip of his drink and placing the glass down he randomly asked, “Do you guys know what a donkey punch is?”
Buzzed from my second drink, I bit on his joke setup, “No. What’s that?”
Leaning against the wall he smiled a cocky college boy grin, “It’s when you’re fucking a girl in the ass and right when you’re about to cum, you punch her in the back of the head so she tightens up on you.”
Brian shook his head. I laughed out loud. Lori picked her lips up off the table.
“That’s just pure disgust.” She said putting her hand to her face, “Boys are disgusting.”
For a brief moment Connor and I made eye contact and I liked him a lot more than I did at the beginning of the trip. It was my turn, “Alright. What about a Dirty Sanchez?”
“Dude. That’s an easy one. You gotta come up with something harder than that at this table,” Connor laughed out while taking a sip of his drink. We were all getting wasted. Well, technically not all of us. Connor, Brian, and I were drinking while Lori enjoyed a glass of water with lime. Water with lime and a splash of judgement.
“What’s that? A dirty who?” She asked looking at me and then Brian. She had given up on Connor.
Hoping she’d ask I eagerly broke it down for her, “Dirty Sanchez. It’s when you have shit on your dick and rub it across the girl’s upper lip.”
Connor laughed spilling his drink on the front of his shirt, “That’s some funny shit, Joe. You’re gonna give her a heart attack.” He was right. From the look on her face she’d need the AED before our report time the next morning.
“She asked. I told.” I grabbed my cell phone off the table, “Alright guys. This has been a lot fun but I gotta do laundry at the hotel and get ready for bed.”
“You gonna take the hotel shuttle back with us?” Brian asked, “It’ll be here in about 20 minutes.”
It was a brisk late afternoon and I wanted to enjoy it. I also wanted to walk back alone to take the edge off my buzz. And I had had enough of Lori. “I’m good. See you guys later.” Walking away from the table I looked back, “Don’t stay out too late.”
Back at the hotel, I grabbed all my dirty laundry and headed down to the first floor laundry room. I’m always prepared to do laundry. When packing for a multiday trip I never forget laundry soap pods, dryer sheets, and enough quarters to finish two loads. During periods when I’m working multiple trips in a row, there’s no way to get out of doing laundry. Because of my transcon commute, I always schedule myself back-to-back trips. After wrapping up my four day trip with Lori, I had a three day awaiting me.
The hotel laundry room was around the corner from the front desk lobby and I was disappointed to find that the washing machine was out of service. Not good. I left my bag of clothes on the washing machine and walked to the front desk to inquire about when the machine would be fixed. With no underwear and white t-shirts for the next day, I started to panic. When I turned the corner into the lobby I noticed my three coworkers standing at the front desk.
I had nowhere to hide. All three of their heads turned at the same time. Brian yelled out, “Joe! Come have a drink with us. Come on.”
I started laughing as I walked up to them, “You guys are a mess. I have to do my laundry.” Then I looked at the young woman working behind the counter, “The washing machine is broken and I need to do laundry.”
“We know,” she picked up the phone and started dialing, “The maintenance man is
on his way now to fix it. Should be about 30 minutes, but I’ll call him again.”
“See Joe,” Connor stated, “Come have a drink with us.”
How could I turn that down? Especially with his big puppy dog eyes and the memories from our college humor rant at the bar. Being a sucker for a good looking straight guy, I surrendered, “Alright. Let me bring my clothes upstairs and I’ll be right down.”
The hotel bar at the end of the main front lobby made it easy to keep track of the maintenance man. Walking into the bar I noticed the three of them sitting at a round table in the corner. From the look of things, Brian and Connor were preparing Lori for the starring role in their pilot bukkake. That bitch. Another reason for me to hate her. My first instinct was to do a 180 and go back to my room, but just as the door closed behind me, Connor looked over, smiled, and kicked the stool across from him out so I could sit down. There was no way out of this now.
Mid conversation with Lori, Brian stopped talking and looked over at me, “I have a bar tab running. Go get yourself a drink.”
Never one to turn down a free drink, I ordered a double gin and tonic and returned to their conversation. It was mostly about work, which is common when working flight crews hang out on layovers. We spend more time bitching about the airline industry than any other topic. It’s boring. And the easiest way to ruin a double gin and tonic buzz. Needing to change the topic of discussion quickly, I decided to make the conversation about something I love to talk about: me and my flight attendant blog.
“What’s it about?” Brian asked.
“Airline shit. And I like trying to make people laugh. I think I’m funny.”
“You know who’s funny? My boyfriend. He makes me laugh all the time,” Lori added. Her eyes were glossed over. Somewhere between the downtown bar and the hotel bar she swapped out her glass of water for a mixed drink. Apparently, a strong one. Another drink like that and she’d land on her ass with a thud.
Was she really testing me? I released venom like a cobra, “Really? He didn’t seem that funny when I met him.” I ended my sentence and finished my drink in one final gulp.
