Amanda's Gifts

I've done my fair share of traveling the last few decades earning over a million airline miles, but not all on the same airline. So I've had my share of lost luggage, delayed flights, and memorable travel mates. I used to run to my gate after getting off a delayed flight, only to look out the window at the gate, and watch my plane pull away without me. I have since adopted a personal policy of just going with the flow. It might be a little uncomfortable, but it is better than stressing out and then becoming uncomfortable. I've heard people complain on every airline, "I'll never fly this airline again!" All I can do is chuckle and shake my head. Every airline is the same. What makes many of them different are the flight attendants. I've met quite a few that have made my flights better. Whether it is a spilled beer on top of me (mistakes happen), or I can't watch movies on my monitor for my nine-hour flight, the flight attendants can really make things easier.

Then there are the passengers. Now, I like to be one of the first on the plane simply because I want to have a place to put my bag in the overhead near me, and give my long legs some space on the floor under the seat in front of me. But there are some people that make it their mission in life to be in the front of the line. Some of them must also be the first off, even when a flight lands early. And I've seen creative ways people attempt to crush my backpack in the overhead compartment with their large bags, fiercely trying to close the compartment door. I have not only witnessed the mistake, but also been one that has sat in the wrong seat, then had to move when others revealed my error to everyone around listening to our dialog.

As a supervisor, I've had female employees in my office crying because I would not promote them. It doesn't matter to me if you are a man or woman; both must be treated equally, and neither gets promoted unless they are performing at the minimum standard of the promoted position. To make sure I was fair, I always had other women, usually more senior, evaluate these junior women to make sure I wasn't seen as being biased. In these cases, tears don't help, and I'm unaffected. But on the street, when I see a woman crying, my heart goes out to her.

On one of my recent trips, I made my way to the gate to catch my flight and passed by a somewhat attractive woman talking on the phone. She was dressed in a pink sweat suit, her long blonde hair was probably beautiful when clean and brushed, but was a bit messy making me think she didn't touch it after getting out of bed this morning. She was clearly upset with tears in her eyes and anger in her voice. Someone was giving her news that she was not accepting, and the other person was not giving in. They called a name, and I watched her go to the counter and pick up a boarding pass making me think she was flying standby. I watched the gate agent roll his eyes making me think there might have been some drama before my arrival to the area.

My boarding group was called, and I made my way to my seat. I always get an aisle seat simply so I can easily get up when I want to without bothering anyone. Most people stay in their seats, even the super long flights. But I almost always get up once or twice to stretch my legs and use the lavatory. The consequence of sitting in the aisle seat is that I must get up for anyone who decides they need to get out while I'm seated. Since I can't sleep on the plane, it is not usually a bother for me; it is airplane etiquette. Most of the time, people in my row take advantage of my departure to get up themselves.

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"We're done! Just get over it," he said. "Asshole," she yelled back, but he didn't hear because he had already hung up on her. She lowered her phone from her ear and stood there, unsure of how to further express her frustration and emotional pain. "Shit!" she said aloud, not caring that others around her were staring. That didn't help.

"What else could go wrong?" she felt more than thinking the words. She had lived with her boyfriend for quite a few months, with occasional fights. She made it to her flight just in time yesterday, before it was delayed, and landed in San Francisco late - too late to catch her next flight. All the other flights were full, and she waited on standby at the airport the whole day, and all night, just in case she heard good news, but without other options. She could return home to her boyfriend, but she knew that was the bad decision. They had been fighting and she sensed it was coming to an end.

After arriving in San Francisco, she confirmed he had been cheating on her as soon as she left their apartment. The meeting she had coming up was too important to miss, so she couldn't go home and confront him in person. The only thing she could do is move forward, get the meeting over with, then move out when she returned. Her friends warned her, but she refused to believe them or give up. She had spent the last ten minutes arguing with him, and begging him to not leave her. Now her name was called to get her boarding pass...Finally! After getting her pass, she walked back to where she was standing, and couldn't stop crying. When her boarding group was called, she had run out of tears. Now she was angry.

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About 15 minutes later, the sad beauty came down the aisle, looking at seat numbers as she moved closer to my row, trying to find her row. She stopped at my row, looked at her paper boarding pass, then at me and said, "You need to move."

I sat back in my seat, a little bit shocked at the tone of her words, and asked to make sure, "Excuse me?"

"You're in my seat. You need to move," she said with a little more determination. She didn't sound happy.

"Oh!. I'm sorry," I said, thinking perhaps I made an error. "Let me find my boarding pass." I quickly called it up on my phone, and read it to her, "it says I'm in 22G. It looks like I'm in the right seat," as I looked up at the guide above me.

"No, I'm on the aisle. I'm in 22H. You need to move," she demanded, raising her voice.

Thankfully, a flight attendant was nearby and helped us sort things out.

Turns out she wanted the window seat so she could sleep after all, but didn't seem ready to confess that she was in error when she demanded I vacate my assigned seat.

A few hours into the flight, she touched me on my shoulder indicating she wanted to get out of her seat. I stopped my movie and was packing up my things (getting my drink off the tray table and trying to stow the table so I could get up). But before I could get my seat belt off, she pushed past me. I watched her ass in the baggy sweat pants go past me, almost spilling my drink, stepping on my toes as she went. She stumbled, falling into my lap, before getting up and on her way. My "ouch" went unacknowledged, and I figured she may be a major contributor to her day of bad karma. I said, "ouch" more out of surprise than anything. I was thankful I wasn't horny at the moment, otherwise her falling into my lap might have caused some damage.

They served a meal at the end of the flight, and I challenged myself to be nice to her, with an even bigger challenge of getting her to smile. Although I tried to be kind and respectful, the best I did was see her soften her harsh attitude.

I checked her out when I noticed she was asleep. She was pretty well covered up, unlike those other girls that got on the plane. As people were boarding, the line stopped, and one of them stood almost next to me waiting for the line to move. She had on a skin tight top that showed the outline of her breasts, including evidence that she was not wearing a bra, and the exact location of her nipples. The other girl came on board with a shirt that was a bit more baggier, but with low cleavage. When she moved, it also showed evidence that she lacked a bra. These are the kind of girls that like to show it off, but get mad when us older guys actually look. When I was younger, I would probably go seek out these girls and try to get a better look. Now, I just stay in my seat and try not to think about it. As I checked out Sad Girl, I remembered my dating days living in Mexico when I would take out the girls from the Mexican factory. These Mexicanas would dress provocatively, showing all their curves; but when alone, they remained chaste and would discourage any touching. I learned you could not take these girls out more than a couple of times before it was expected of me to meet the parents. The American girls would dress more conservatively, then would get mad if I didn't try anything, thinking I didn't like them, or I was gay.

Sad Girl was covered up, thankfully. That meant I didn't need to try and steal glances at her, hoping to catch a glimpse of something privileged. But her face was exposed. It was a pretty face. A little makeup, but not much. It looked like the makeup was smudged just a bit. But the shape of her nose, and of her mouth; those were nice. I wish I had taken a closer look at her eyes when they were open. Although a bit tangled, her brown hair was also pretty. I'm sure she didn't have to do much to look beautiful. In fact, just sitting there sleeping, she looked beautiful to me.

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She walked down the aisle and found her row, only to find a man already sitting in her seat. "You need to move," she said. While he was checking his boarding pass, she noticed he was an older man, probably over 50, but she wasn't sure. His hair wasn't white like an old man. Instead he had grey hair with some black mixed in. He had a nicely trimmed beard that had the same grey but a little more of the dark hair in places. He had green eyes, or were they hazel, and a nice smile hidden behind is mustache. He tried to tell her she was wrong, but she wasn't going to let someone else tell her she was wrong again today. A flight attendant came over and checked their boarding passes and sided with the man. "Shit!" she said, moving to her seat when he got up, and jamming her bag under the seat in front of her.

After they served dinner, she fell asleep, eventually wakening to the urge to pee. She didn't want to get up and have to deal with the man next to her. After trying to suppress the feeling, she realized she either needed to get to the bathroom, or wet herself. So, reluctantly, she tapped him on the shoulder. He took a long time trying to pack up and she couldn't wait. She decided to just get by him, and made her move. Unfortunately, she tripped on something on the floor, plopping her ass into his lap, with him saying, "ouch". Embarrassed, she immediately got up and hurried to the rest room. She didn't say a word when she returned, but let him get up and out of her way before attempting to get back to her seat. He didn't seem upset. For some reason, he was nice to her. "Maybe he's a pervert and just wants to get into my pants," she thought to herself. He had even taken her empty dinner tray earlier when she was done so she could go to sleep without waiting for the flight attendants to pick it up. She hoped he didn't try anything. She wasn't in the mood.

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Upon arriving at my hotel, exhausted, I was greeted by the clerk at the front desk. "Buon Giorno, Mr. Anderson. Welcome back," he said with a big smile.

"Hello, Luciano. How are you doing?" I responded.

"Very good, Mr. Anderson. How was your flight?"

"Just as long as usual, Luciano, but much less turbulence than last time, thankfully. How's Francesca? Did she have her baby?"

"Yes, sir. She brought her son by to visit just last week. They look great."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said, taking a closer look at the woman standing next to me also registering at the hotel. She was the same sad girl that sat next to me on the plane. "What a small world," I thought.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson. Welcome back," Giusy greeted me with a big smile. Giuseppa, Giusy (pronounced "juicy") for short, was always warm to me and seemed to go a little out of her way to say hello or help make things nicer. I didn't mind the extra attention. A little extra attention from a beauty like Giusy is always appreciated. Giusy was a tall divorced brunette with a pretty darn good figure. She must be hit on regularly. I lightly flirted with her, but always made an effort to be respectful figuring she had enough creeps striving for some of her personal attention. She was standing in front of Sad Girl across the counter. The tone of her voice was apologetic before I stepped up to the counter, and Sad Girl wasn't having any of it.

"Are you still looking?" queried Sad Girl in a demanding and annoyed tone. She obviously was annoyed that she wasn't getting Giusy's full attention, or that I was getting some of her attention, or both.

"I'm sorry, Miss Clark," Giusy said apologetically, "there just isn't any room available until your reservation starts tomorrow." An apologetic expression on Guisy's face matched the tone of her voice.

"Shit!" exclaimed Sad Girl.

"If you'd like, you can wait here in the lobby and if something becomes available, I can let you have it. But it is rare that anyone cancels on the same day. There is an event in the city and most of the hotels are fully booked."

"Fuck!" exclaimed Sad Girl. "I certainly can't go wandering around Rome with my bags searching for a room. I'll wait!" she said with a huff that was soon expressed in her walk over to her luggage sitting next a chair in the lobby waiting area.

"Mr. Anderson, we have upgraded your room and thank you for your loyalty to our hotel," Lucian said to me. "I just need your credit card, and if you sign here, we'll be all set."

I handed over my credit card and thought for a moment, thinking I was going to regret what I was about to do. "Luciano, does my room have one or two beds this time?"

"Let me look," said Luciano. "Ah! Your room is a suite with two queen beds. Is that alright?"

"Yes. Thank you," I replied as I exchanged the paper I signed for my credit card.

"Grazie, Mr. Anderson. One key or two?"

"Two keys, per favore" I replied.

"Here you are," said Luciano, snapping his fingers at the bell boy across the room.

"Emanuele will be happy to take your luggage to your room."

"Grazie, Luciano. And grazie, Emanuele. I'll be right up in a moment." Then I walked over to Sad Girl. "I hope this doesn't come across as too inappropriate, but my room has two beds and if you aren't able to find a room for tonight, you are welcome to use one of them."

Sad Girl glared at me and said in a voice a little louder than necessary, "So you can rape me in my sleep? Not on your life!" Apparently I wasn't the only one in shock because as I walked away, I saw the look on the faces of both the staff and guests in the immediate area.

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She sat there watching nice, Old Guy walk away from her. She probably shouldn't have said that to him. He didn't really deserve it. He wasn't mean to her. He just offered her a place to stay. If they didn't have a "history", she might have accepted - a stranger might have been better. On second thought, she realized she would have been a fool to accept such an offer from a stranger. Mr. Nice Guy had been nice to her, when she wasn't to him. Maybe she SHOULD have accepted his offer. She would have at least a place to rest and freshen up, even if he wanted to stare at her the whole time. She was tired from jet lag. No, she was exhausted. She closed her eyes to rest for a moment, drifting off to ... somewhere...

"Miss Clark. Miss Clark," said a man, gently. "Miss Clark, we have a room for you." She opened her eyes and saw the man who had helped Mr. Nice Guy.

"What? You have a room?" she asked, trying to dislodge the sleep from her eyes while trying to make sense of what he said.

"Yes, Miss Clark. There was a cancellation. So we have a room available for you tonight. We can offer it to you for the same rate as your room for tomorrow. But you will need to change rooms tomorrow," he explained.

Change rooms? That sounded inconvenient. But at least she could have a shower and a bed for tonight, she thought. "I'll take it," she announced, and followed him to the counter. After she signed the paperwork, she took her room key and walked back to her luggage, trying to decide which bag to pick up first. She looked up and across the room and saw Mr. Nice Guy heading for the front door. She quickly moved toward him, not sure yet about what she was going to say.

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After a short nap and a shower, in an effort to fight off the jet lag, I went downstairs to begin my hunt for a nice dinner. As I passed through the lobby, I noticed Sad Girl was standing next to her luggage in the lobby. She looked up and approached me as I headed for the front door. I stopped and waited for her.

"I'm sorry for what I said, " she said with mild embarrassment. "I can't sleep in the lobby and couldn't find a room, and I really needed to get some rest before my meeting tomorrow." Her eyes were puffy making me think she was not only tired, but had been crying in the lobby.

I looked into her puffy eyes that had a slightly pleading look, thought about it, and said, "Let's discuss it over dinner. Will you have dinner with me?" I asked, unsure as to why I wanted to deal with her emotions that evening.

She looked surprised, then slightly suspicious before she responded slowly, "OK."

"Luciano, can Miss Clark leave her bags with you for a couple of hours while we have dinner?" I asked the clerk behind the counter.

"Si, Mr. Anderson. Right over here, Miss Clark," said Luciano motioning to the side of his desk. He seemed reluctant to forgive her outburst as quickly I seemed to have. He also had a slight look of surprise on his face.

I held the door for her as we left the hotel, and guided her to an inexpensive, but delicious, restaurant that was close by, and away from the main tourist route.

"Would you like Italian, Italian, or Italian food this evening Miss Clark?" I asked, attempting to lighten up the mood.

She looked at me quizzically. "What?"

"There are a mere 18,000 restaurants in Rome, and 17,997 are Italian. The other three are Mexican, and I don't eat Mexican outside of Mexico or South San Diego. So what'll it be, Miss Clark?" I asked with a smile.

She let a slight smile escape from her lips, and said, "How about Italian? And you can call me Amanda."

I could tell she was feeling a little better and said, "Italian it is, Amanda. And you can call me Brian."

"Buona sera," said the restaurant owner who greeted us. "Welcome back. How are you this evening?"

"Great, Maurizio. How are you?" I answered.

"Good. Very good. Two for dinner?" he asked as he guided us to a booth in the corner.

"Yes, thank you."

Maurizio put on his usual charm and told us the specials for the evening in his classic style that made the ordinary sound exquisite. "And, of course, fresh tiramisu," he added, remembering one of my favorites.

We placed our orders and began with some red Italian wine with a simple, delicious appetizer of tomatoes and mozzarella cheese. We started with some small talk, eventually explaining to each other that each was in town for meetings. She knew that she left the States on one day and arrived in Europe the next day, but her flight was cancelled, making her spend the night in San Francisco. Because she didn't check in and forgot to call the hotel, they cancelled her reservation, charged her for the night, and someone else in her office booked the room for the rest of the week, leaving her homeless tonight.

I eventually asked more personal questions, including why she was crying on the phone in San Francisco, explaining I didn't want to be nosy, but recognized she was going through a trial and maybe wanted to vent to a stranger. She explained that she moved in with her boyfriend, but things were not going well. Just before her flight, she found out some other girl spent the night with him that night, and the boyfriend decided to call it quits with Amanda when she found out. She couldn't go home and confront him because her job required her to attend these meetings in Rome this week. So she felt hurt and helpless, taking it out on everyone around her.