…”NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING….”
I’m no longer sure which year this happened, but every Christmas Eve the memory returns.
I’d managed to book a flight home, from Halifax to Toronto, on December 24. It’s only a two hour flight, my favorite type of flight where you’re not in the air long enough to visibly age.
Having never flown that close to a holiday I wasn’t sure what, if anything, might be different than a more regularly scheduled flight on a national carrier I’ll call Air C.
A total of 23 people were on board. My location by a window on the left side of the plane allowed me to raise the arm rests of the other two seats beside me and put my legs up. I was looking forward to the quick ride home.
Takeoff was predictable and uneventful. About 15–20 minutes in we had achieved altitude and the snacks came out. The flight attendants certainly were going to have an easy time of it, I thought. Service was cordial if not stiff and forced, however. It was about to get worse.
The miniature coffee they served was gone after a couple of sips, which was OK since it was lukewarm anyway.
“May I please have another coffee?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, there’s no time!” came the swift and curt retort.
Clearly I had overestimated the ability of three flight attendants to adequately…
