Flying Delta

Elbows must be packed more carefully. I catch the eye of a flight attendant. Some preliminary questions… "Miss can I be slipped into a less edgy wedge? She frowns, resenting perhaps my ‘miss’ should have said ‘mam’…damn. I carry on babbling – “Could my mind be more swiftly amputated? Is it possible to be shuffled laterally until I intrude less and match more?” Now she is throwing daggers of hate towards me. Are the engines honking like killer geese? Will dinner come as an intravenous drip? Is that kid vomiting back there? Her dislike of my questions is as palpable as a cudgel to the head. “Miss I can’t see; my eyes are too near the seatback. Will you stamp my papers D.O.A. now to save time?" My voice through the triple layered mask sounds like a hyperactive zombie. She smiles robotically. "Sir, will you please stop blinking, you're making the other cargo nervous."