Peepers

One of my favorite trips out to California occurred in February of 2020.  It involved business class travel on American Airlines, a fascinating Australian woman, two pairs of eyeglasses, and a nap.

I love flying business class.  I spend the year leading up to my trip out to California anticipating this delight, being sure to put everything through my credit card so I can use my rewards points for a round-trip business class upgrade.  To me, it's like a getting a reward for best consumer.

My favorite part about flying in upgraded digs is the seating.  American Airlines offers fully flat business class seating on their coast-to-coast routes.  This means the seat stretches out into a bed that you can sleep in!  I love this added benefit for travel between New York and San Francisco.  Now in my forties, it means a lot to me to sleep some of the 5 1/2 hours in bed-like conditions, since I usually have another 4 1/2 hour drive north from San Francisco to the nether regions of Northern California, deep in the Emerald Triangle of Humboldt County.

On this particular trip, I had the window seat.  A wonderfully bubbly Australian woman sat next to me in the aisle seat.  We began our talk:

"Hello," I say, "I'm Orval.  It's so nice to meet you.  Don't you love this seating?  It's so comfortable!  Have you flown American before," I said.

Before she speaks, she leans over the wood-paneled snack table separating our seats and says, "Thank you, dear.  I'm Mavis.  No, I usually travel Qantas.  I'm out here visiting my son and my grandchildren.  They're coming back with me to Sydney for a visit.  They're seated in economy where I'll be checking in on them every now and then."

She spoke with such a warm and inviting tone.  I felt right at home sitting next to her in my seat.  I was actually annoyed with myself as I noticed her breath bore the slight tinge of over-ripe bananas.  Does it matter?  Not really.  I am resigned to lean against the window if we continue our conversation at another juncture during our flight.

Shortly after takeoff, I slip my seat into flat mode just after the steward announces we may move about the cabin.  I'm so tired.  I take off my eyeglasses and sit them on the tray table that separates us.  I notice Mavis has already placed her eyeglasses on the tray and she is beginning to nod off, seat upright.

Heavenly.

I'm asleep and dreaming of one of my favorite foods.  It is something I can only get on the west coast.  I am re-experiencing the taste of an It's-It ice cream cookie.  Mmmm...  vanilla ice cream sandwiched between two oatmeal cookies, covered entirely with a thin hard layer of milk chocolate...  and the smell of rotten bananas...

Wait? What is that smell? Where am I?  Who?  What?  Did I fall into a trash can?  Where are the rotten bananas?  Are there fruit flies in here?

It's Mavis.

She's leaned over me and she's speaking in an excited, worried tone.

"Orval, dear.  I do believe something is very off about me.  I got up to use the loo and I think I'm ill.  Ever since I got up to go I don't seem to be able to see anything.  I bumped into several passengers and a steward.  I feel so dizzy!  Oh my!  What about my grandchildren!?"

Loo is slang for restroom in Australia.

Having just been wrenched from my dreamalicious It's-It experience, I am somewhat detached from what she is saying.  I blink my eyes and try not to be bothered by the now rank stench of her rotten banana breath.

Most other passengers have closed their window blinds and it's hard to see without my glasses.  I squint and fumble for them, but can't find them.

Finally, I look directly at Mavis, squinting my eyes again.

I see my eyeglasses.  They are perched, ever so smartly, on the bridge of Mavis' nose.  I say to her, "Madam, that is a mighty fine set of peepers you are wearing."

I smile.  My smile turns to laughter.  My laughter turns into an uncontrollable, breathless, donkey-braying cacophony.  I feel as though the life has been punched out of me in a breathless, gleefully extended exhale.

Mavis is not amused.  She exclaims, "There is nothing funny about this, Sir! I am experiencing a medical emergency!"

I calmly and quickly catch my breath, immediately silencing my inner donkey. "Mavis," I say, "you are experiencing difficulty with your vision because you are wearing my eyeglasses."

"Oh," she says, with a look and exhale that sounded a sign of relief.

More banana death breath.

My God, I need to offer her a breath mint, but I don't have any.  She hands me my glasses and begins to fumble in her seat for her own eyeglasses.  She finds them, wedged into the cushioned edge of her seat.  We exchange pleasantries, but I know this incident has deeply embarrassed her.  Her face is flushed scarlet and she hasn't been able to look me in the eye since finding her own pair of eyeglasses.

She mumbles an apology. "Stupid old lady," she says.

I reply, "Mavis, these things happen.  Don't worry about it."

Finally, she smiles and rises from her seat.  She says, "I'd better check on my son and grandchildren."  Her face is no longer scarlet.

Now, if only I can get back to that It's-It...

Please don't let it be banana-scented.