August 19th, 1990

August 19th, 1990

Flight from CCS – BOG – CCS

Caracas, Venezuela

 

While the aircraft was being catered on turnaround in Bogota, Millie appeared in the galley.

“Phew, it’s bloody roasting, isn’t it,” I said, fanning my face.

“Not really.”

“You’re not boiling in this heat?”

“Your face looks blotchy.”

“It’s the humidity. It doesn’t like me.”

“Your hair’s a mess as well.”

“Gee, thanks friend.”

“It looks like straw.”

“And you remain as flawless as ever,” I said in a sarcastic tone.

“You look bedraggled,” she hissed.

“You can go back downstairs anytime, you know.”

“I’m not needed down there.”

“You’re not needed here either with that attitude.”

“You’re vile when it’s humid.”

I’m vile?”

“Uh,” she said, shaking her head. “You get really snarky.”

“I’m not the one being snarky!”

“You are. You’re upset because you look like shit.”

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

“See you later,” she said, turning to go, just as Roberto came into the galley, his mouth agape.

“What the hell was that all about?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

On the crew bus back to the hotel, Millie sat by herself while Dolly and I attempted to make eye contact with her, but she wasn’t having any of it.

So much for a fun request trip!

 

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