March 15th, 1990
Night flight from PIT – IAD – LHR
Planned on meeting some of my crew “in the lobby at nine,” which is the norm regardless of where we are in the world but breakfast in the States is so amazing that it tends to draw a bigger crowd.
This morning was no exception and some bright spark (aka the First Officer) had already discovered that the “Special” they were serving at the hotel was only $1.19, so no prizes for guessing where we ate.
We were the only people in the dining room but with thirteen of us we filled a few tables. Albert, the First Class purser was a bit of an anorak and thought it’d “be a hoot,” to see if we could each order breakfast without the waitress having to ask any questions. There are so many choices in the States for absolutely everything, especially food.
Albert suggested he start the game off “because I’m a jolly good sport.” The two other girls at our table, Tamra and Alison sighed and rolled their eyes but I must admit, I secretly liked the sound of it.
I paid attention as the waitress rattled off the choices and after Albert ordered Tamra said she wanted to go next; “otherwise I’ll forget.” She was doing fine ‘til she drew a blank on the types of bread.
“White, whole wheat or sour dough?” the waitress asked, thereby leaving my spot wide open for a sweeping victory! Alison went next and was so uninterested that she pretty much gave up after she chose how she wanted her eggs. Poor Albert was crestfallen and looked at me with such hope in his eyes that I couldn’t possibly let him down.
“And for you?” the waitress asked, with more than a hint of a cheeky smile.
“Small orange juice. Two eggs, over easy,” I beamed. “Hash browns. No bacon, no sausage. Whole Wheat toast plus a side of pancakes. Oh and a hot tea. Please.”
“With milk or lemon?” she quipped, without missing a beat.
Poor Albert. I don’t think he’ll ever recover.