4am Fireworks

Last week found me at the Holiday Inn Airport North, South San Francisco, CA. Work took me over to the left coast where I enjoyed much cooler weather. Autumnly, almost. The Bay Area is beautiful, but things still happen there that surprise me.

Item #1: I arrived on Monday afternoon. On Tuesday morning at 4am, fireworks started going off very near the hotel. I chalked it up as most likely being some kids or possibly even some late night drinkers. Then it happened again on Wednesday morning. And again on Thursday morning. They were pretty and I enjoyed them, but I couldn't figure out the reason for this 4am show. Since my body clock was still on New York time, I was already awake, so it was not an annoyance. Definitely a curiosity, though.

Item #2: My flight was due to leave SFO at 8:30 on Friday morning. Happily, though, I was able to catch a flight at 11:55pm on Thursday night. All is normal and well. Until I wake up somewhere over Pennsylvania as the crew is preparing the cabin for landing. That is when a flight attendant "re-seats" next to me a passenger who eagerly proclaims her intoxication. I think her exact words were, "this airplane isn't nearly as high as I am, with all the drugs and drinks I've had..."

But wait, there's more.

She introduces herself as Charlene, and asks me if I visited the Clandestine Club while I was in the Bay Area (I have used different names for her and her club). I confessed that I had not. She allows that she works at the club. She further clarifies by telling me that she is not a stripper, but that she is a "pro." At various points, she also tells me that she is a writer, a graphic designer, a jewelry designer and a fashion photographer. Busy girl, I would say!

The climax, if you will excuse the choice of that word, came as we were on final approach. Charlene asks me to hold her hand because she is scared. She doesn't really give me a choice, though, as she grabs my hand. Since I know, at this point, that she is a "lady for hire," I have to fight the tendency to jerk my hand back...fearing in my mind what her hands might have touched in the past years. As we are descending for the last few hundred feet, she begins making noises like women make during sex (at least in movies). Now I'm beginning to sweat. Why is this making me feel so dirty?

After touchdown, her respiration returns to a rate closer to normal, and she begins crying. She repeatedly asks the flight attendant if the police will be taking her to jail. The flight attendant will only say that an airline representative will escort her to the next gate and that she should have no more drinks or risk missing the next flight.

I manage to sneak out ahead of Charlene, and run to baggage claim, mainly out of fear. After all, Charlene won't be going to baggage claim, in spite of all the baggage she is carrying, figuratively speaking.

Her final destination was Florida, where she planned to meet her mom. I really hope she made it and I hope that she was sober enough to keep her mom from being disappointed. After all, if she enjoys landings as much as it sounds like, then she deserves another flight.