BY SALLY SHEKLOW
Friendly Skies
How to make your connection
E
ver notice how hard it is to find the LGBTQ people in
airports? Air travel sure throws my gaydar all
out of whack. Homo-looking guys turn out
to be het men who’ve been Queer-eyed.
Sauntering women with dykey haircuts are just
Canadian.
The moving walkway carries me past
unidentified strangers to my connecting flight.
At least I see my people on TV. In all the waiting
areas every newscast blares some same-sex
marriage-related story. Go team.
I haven’t eaten since dinner last night and am
looking forward to some good old airplane food.
Flying across time zones they usually manage to
have you in the air between meals. But this flight
takes four hours and no matter how you slice it,
includes lunch time.
I’ve still got an hour’s wait. The airport gift
shop/newsstand is selling single pieces of fruit —
the only living food on site — for $1.75. The apples
are so shiny even Snow White would be suspicious.
I pass, but salivate a little anyway.
Eventually I board, find my aisle seat and buck-
le in. Our flight attendant is very faggy. Straight
men who work in this swishy profession tend to
act extra macho to defy the stereotype, but this
guy is a total queen. If feather boas were part of
the allowable flight attendant uniform, he’d be
flouncing one across his shoulder while he
reminds you to stow that bag completely under
the seat in front of you, Mary.
Thank God(dess) another member of my tribe
is onboard. If I can make contact, he might slip me
a packet of snack mix before takeoff. That would
hold me until lunch. Then we get the bad news: no
food. Airlines no longer offer in-flight meals. Who
knew? On this 1700-mile flight they don’t even
serve pretzels. My belly gurgles disappointment.
We’re told we can purchase a restaurant quality
sandwich or salad for $10. The nerve. I do not have an extra $10 to spend
on what’s supposed be included in the deal.
It’s the principle of the thing. Airline meals are part of our culture. You
can’t change the rules. It’s unnatural. It goes against tradition. Even the
bible says “Let all who are hungry come and eat.”
Where’s the constitutional amendment codifying that the institution of
air travel is a union between one person and one meal? (Rumor has it a few
renegade airlines flout the law and issue meals anyway.)
Why should I have to pay for airplane food — something first class pas-
sengers take for granted? It’s not fair that some of us are treated as sec-
ond class. Unequal. Under less famished conditions, I’d raise hell, but there’s
no fight in me. I’m too hungry. I will have to tough it out.
We are all sealed into the oxygen deprivation chamber, aka the cabin.
Nice word choice, but this cabin has no burbling brook nearby. No fireplace.
Not even a moosehead, although some of us passengers could pass for
dead animals, we’re so lifeless from breathing recirculated jet fuel fumes.
The flight attendant sashays down the aisle checking seatbelts. I try to
send him homo vibes.
The flight
attendant
sashays
down the
aisle
checking
seatbelts.
I try to
send him
homo
vibes.
A
fter takeoff, I open my tray table and set out my travel journal, my
wedding photo on the cover. Miss Thang rolls by with his beverage
cart. I make a point of glancing at the portrait of Wifey and me,
and then up at him, flashing my best We Are Fam-i-ly smile. My stomach
growls, but you can’t hear it over the engine noise.
Apparently I’ve made contact. “Are you hungry?” I nod with my most
LGBTQ-solidarity look. He leans in close, “I’ll see if we can get you something
— don’t tell anybody.”
At last, I get to cash in on those special rights we’ve heard so much
about. Flyboy serves my food with a conspiratorial wink. I’m happy — in a
carbon monoxide kind of way — all the way home.
Sally Sheklow has been a part of the Eugene community since 1972 and is a member of the WYMPROV!
comedy troupe. Her column, which began at EW in 1999, also runs in several other newspapers and maga-
zines around the country and Down Under.
APRIL 15, 2003 7