The training for the world’s longest flight had been going smoothly, given that we were in an office tower. Wilson was nodding off next to me. He had gotten up after the imaginary seatbelt light went off, and retrieved his little puffy U-shaped neck pillow from his suitcase. After some adjusting in his seat, he was able to get comfortable and doze off.
It was one-thirty in the afternoon. I should be eating lunch, or maybe sneaking away to the gym. Anything but sitting here in an office chair next to a colleague in a make-believe airplane cabin.
Another half-hour passed as I stared out the window. A few people came and went in the office across Fifty-third Street. I watched enviously as they went about their little daily routine. It was coming up on four hours of being confined to my seat. I had to take stand, literally.
I went to get up and as I did, my arm hit Wilson. He fidgeted in his seat, then groaned and woke up, glancing over at me as I was getting up out of my seat.
“What’s going on? You okay?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” I said.
“What time is it?”
“About one-thirty.”
“Oh, we should be over Greenland,” he said.
I looked out the window. “No, still Fifty-third Street.”
“This is right about when they serve a light lunch,” Wilson said.
“I’d be happy to go out and grab a little something for us. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
It was my only shot. My chance to leave the plane’s cabin slash Wilson’s office, and flee. If I could just get past him, across the office, and to the door. I could salvage the day.
“No worries,” he said. “I thought about lunch and packed us something.”
“Of course you did,” I said, sitting back down, defeated.
Wilson got up, then sat back down to unbuckle his imaginary seat belt. “Don’t want to forget that,” he said.
He went over to his suitcase atop his desk, or the “overhead bin” and came back with two small Tupperware containers. He gave one to me with a plastic fork. Inside was a white blob of some sort of mashed, or pulverized food. I stared down at it, afraid to even sniff it.
“I wasn’t sure whether to pack a fork or a spoon for this,” Wilson said, avoiding the bigger issue as to the identity of the mystery meal.
“Did you pack a straw, by chance?” I asked.
Wilson took a spoonful. “Mmmm, not as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Always encouraging to hear,” I said. “What is it?”
“Mashed cauliflower.”
“My favorite,” I said, turning over a forkful in the container.
“Cauliflower helps keep you hydrated,” he said. “Really important when you’re 35,000 feet up in the sky over the earth.”
“Or sixteen floors up over Fifty-third Street.”
We ate our mashed cauliflower and sat there in silence for awhile. I noticed the shadows creeping across the buildings of midtown as the sun headed west toward the Hudson. Wilson seemed to have no problem taking little naps, and I wondered how he made it through a full workday awake. It probably explained why his door was always closed.
Sometime in the late afternoon there was a tap on the door. I heard it over Wilson’s snoring. I looked over and saw the young suck-up Andy peeking in. His face stiffened in puzzlement at the sight of two grown men sitting side-by-side in office chairs facing a wall, one sleeping peacefully with his little neck pillow.
Andy took all of two seconds to process what was in front of him. Sensing an opportunity for office laughs, professional leverage, maybe even blackmail, he quickly raised his phone to take a picture.
I shook my head and said, “No, please,” in a low voice, knowing it was useless. He got his shot and left. He was probably already down the hall telling everyone.
I must have dozed off sometime shortly after that, no doubt drained physically, mentally and emotionally. I don’t know how much time passed, but I awoke in the dark to the sound of the office door opening again. Wilson was still asleep, and from the backlight in the hall I could see the nice cleaning lady step into the office pushing her little cart. Then she froze, all movement ceasing. In the dark I could feel the fear oozing from her.
She stood there for a second, my guess is adjusting her eyes to the sight of two people sitting in a dark office. She mumbled in Spanish, appeared to bless herself, and she too was gone. It was then that I gave up. I slept through the middle of the night, the uneasy sleep of a airline flight.
I was awakened suddenly when something blistering hot and wet hit my forehead.
“Here’s a hot towel for you,” he said.
I thrashed about, flailing for the towel, thinking I was being assaulted.
“I ran down to the break room and warmed them up in the microwave. It’s the only time I left the cabin,” he said. proudly. He nodded toward the window and said, “It’s about three a.m., we’re over the Gulf of Thailand now. I feel great.”
I removed the hot towel from my head and my heart eventually slowed to close to a normal rate. I glanced outside. It was still Fifty-third Street, or maybe Thailand. I wasn’t sure.
“We’ll be landing in about an hour and a half or so. This is where we get a final snack. Some pizza, or something. Thanks so much for helping me train.”
“What did you think? Any questions?” he asked.
“Just one,” I said. “Are we out of mashed cauliflower?”