Zip Codes

I was recently on standby for my flight back to Houston. Despite repeated calls on the intercom, the last remaining passanger did not turn up at the gate. Tough luck for him, horray for me.

Instructions were given to remove the luggage and I was given ok to proceed to board.

As I walk down the ramp, I brace myself for the cold stares from other passengers as I would be blamed for the delay in getting off.

I see the Stewardess near the plane door - a pretty hispanic late 20 something - and she stops me before I walk up the aisle. She leans over and quietly whispers something where I caught only the first word "Sir." whisper whisper whisper whisper was the rest.

I pause and puzzle over what she just said to me.

- Thought 1: It must be my debanoir business suit and she is flirting with me, naturally mistaking me for a captain of industry instead of the corporal which I am. No, don't think so.

- Thought 2: Surely, she hasn't the gall to rebuke me for holding everyone up. It didn't sound like 'wtf are you doing dumbass?'. Nah, this is Continental not Ryan Air.

Hmm. What could Whisper whisper whisper whisper be?

Oh. The penny drops and in a flash I understand what she'd said: "Sir. Your flies are undone."

ARGHHH. Crash and burn time as I turn around, take care of the situation and sheepishly go to my seat.

:)

Phileas Fogg,
Houston, Texas
3rd April 2008