Flo and I sat on the Humvee’s open tailgate sucking on popsicles to soothe our smoke-sore throats while Roundtree had found another Starbucks and was off ordering another ridiculous $8 concoction. “I can’t watch this,” he’d grumbled as he left. Anita was in the backseat gently feeding Trixi another plastic spoonful of canned pumpkin. The poor pup was so starving she hardly needed coaxing. The can was twice as big as she was, but she was halfway through it and still eating when the stuff started coming out the other end. Luckily Flo had thought to buy pee pads and line the seat before Fifi Trixibelle’s feasting began. “Who wants to dig through the poo?” Anita asked, offering a plastic spoon in our direction. Flo and I looked at each other expectantly. “C’mon, you’re the flight attendant,” I told her. “You dig through crap all the time.” I was hardly exaggerating. It’s stupefying all the stuff flight attendants are trained to deal with in the course of their professions.
What do You think about We Will Be Crashing Shortly?
